Condensation
by PalindromeIsntOne
Summary: Marth was content in his ordinary office job until a certain suggestive window cleaner turned up, dirtying his thoughts and muddying the waters in his relationship with Pit. The man won't leave Marth alone, and Marth is beginning to doubt what he wants.
1. Chapter 1

Of all the emotions Marth might have expected to feel that morning, aroused was not one of them. Sitting at his desk and checking through the final figures on his computer he was bored if anything, chewing the tip of his pen and doodling rainbows on Post-It notes. With a yawn he stared out of the large window that formed the entire wall on the outer side of the room, enjoying the sunlight on his face. It wasn't much of a view, just other skyscrapers and a few large advertisements stuck on the sides of the buildings below. Dithering, he walked over to the window and gazed out thoughtfully, wishing he could be relaxing at home instead.

A low whirring noise began and Marth frowned, turning around and hoping it wasn't something wrong with the computer. But as he stood there a long metallic structure rose slowly into view outside the window like a submarine with the top half sawn off, a man protruding out of it on the right hand side. For a moment Marth stared at it without thinking, and then blinked and realised it was in fact a window cleaning box, and the man was not protruding out of it but simply standing inside it, operating the controls. The grey beast eventually juddered to a halt and the window cleaner reached down for his tools before straightening up again to begin cleaning the window. Uninterested, Marth turned towards one of the files on his desk, ready to resume work. But just before his attention could withdraw his sense of peripheral vision the window cleaner's gaze passed over it, and their glances met through the glass. The eye contact was brief, barely an acknowledgement of the other's presence, but as Marth resumed typing his mind shifted idly through the details of this indirect intruder of his personal space. It was a tall man, clean shaven with short blue hair. He'd worn a bright orange puffer jacket as if to protect himself from the cold but it hung open unzipped, revealing underneath a simple black tank top. And his eyes had been friendly yet somehow intimidating, as if hoping for a quick game of rough-and-tumble. This detail lingered the longest, but then dissolved into his subconscious like other useless information.

Marth sighed, multitasking as he scanned over his timetable whilst fumbling in a drawer for a list of phone numbers he'd been given. Then he made two calls to different businessmen, boredom like a recurring itch from an insect bite on the inside of his skull. As he waited on a particularly strung out reply he swivelled in his chair almost automatically to stare out of the window. But half the glass had already been soaped up, spoiling the view. Marth yawned, watching the window cleaner's arm move up and down in a steady rhythm. As the man's arm went up it lifted the puffy orange jacket with it, pulling it away from the tank top which clung to his actually quite shapely chest.

"Pardon sir, could you repeat that?" Marth said automatically into the phone, distracted. The window cleaner's arm went up again, the jacket lifted, and Marth's eye followed the gentle curve in from his strong chest to his flat stomach with something more than just mild appreciation.

"I'm sorry sir, could you go over the last detail again just to confirm?"

Marth finally diverted all of his attention back to the call. It took longer than expected to note all the particulars, and only when he hung up did he have the chance to look back out of the window. The whole of it had been soaped over now, Marth thought initially. But as he looked again he realise that a patch in the middle had been left clear. A patch that was the perfect size for the window cleaner to stand in almost as his own outline. And this was what the man was currently doing, a teasing smile lifting his lips.

_Hey,_ he mouthed.

Marth froze, not quite knowing what to do.

"Hi," he replied automatically.

The man grinned, but didn't say anything else. Marth watched him awkwardly, feeling strangely inclined to continue the conversation. However the man simply began soaping in the space that revealed him – from bottom to top this time. Not sure what to do Marth continued to observe him until there was only clear glass enough to see the man's face. At which point the window cleaner suddenly looked back through the glass at him, and winked. Then with a final movement he soaped himself out of sight. Marth could feel himself blushing. Oh dear. He was rather inclined to find the man seriously attractive. And, sweet marshmallows, any moment now the soap would be wiped off and he could see him again. _No, must focus on work._

But there was nothing much to do. And as soon as the soap began to come off Marth felt his eyes revolving almost of their own accord to look back at the window cleaner. It was odd that each of them could see the other so clearly, yet neither was paying the other any attention. Although Marth was beginning to. And as the window cleaner never looked back his confidence that their eyes wouldn't meet grew, and with each flick of his gaze he lingered longer, watching the simple focus of the man's expression and the fluid movement of his body as he wiped off the soap. Was the man avoiding his gaze, or just unaware of it? Marth shuffled papers on his desk. It didn't matter, did it? It was just a little harmless ogling. The window was almost clear now anyway. Sure enough seconds later the low whirring sound started up again, and the window cleaning box moved up and out of sight.

Marth ate lunch at his desk, a small Tupperware full of healthy things that he had packed in it this morning at home. It included two salad sandwiches and a fat free yoghurt, which tasted disgusting. He threw it in the bin. Healthy eating really ought to have attractions above and beyond lowering weight watching concerns, he mused. Like a good taste, for instance. Would that be too much of an indulgence?

Two hours and a reasonable amount of work later, Marth was tempted to call it a day and go home. He felt that he should, however, do at least one more hour of work before he left. The thought made him sigh. Half an hour? Still he felt unwilling. _Ten more minutes?_ he bargained with himself. Yes, he could manage that. He readjusted himself and clicked his pen decisively.

He was halfway through composing a fax when a familiar low whirring noise came back into earshot. Eh? Surely the window cleaner had finished with his window? But maybe he was just lowering the box back down to the ground. Come to think of it – what _did_ happen to window cleaning boxes once they had done the whole height of the building? Not that the window cleaner _had_ done the whole height, being as it was a very tall building… Marth shook his head briskly, annoyed to find his mind going off on a tangent. But he couldn't help but be distracted further as the window cleaner himself casually descended into view, the wind tousling his hair into an attractive disarray. It seemed like the man would go straight past, but at the last moment he released the controls and the box juddered to a halt. Then the man looked up – and straight at Marth. Marth instantly began to panic. What did he want? He couldn't have come back to clean…

The man watched him with an easy smile. Marth, not knowing how else to respond, looked back at him, a silent yet somehow intense exchange. What was he doing there? What was he waiting for? Marth fidgeted nervously, unable to bear the tension. _Do something_, he willed the man. _Don't just stand there and look at me._

This thought was very badly timed.

The man slowly removed his orange puffer jacket and let it drop down inside the box. And then, never taking his eyes from Marth's, he slowly peeled off the black tank top underneath, leaving him bare-chested. _What was he doing?_ Alarmed, Marth knew he couldn't watch this any longer. But he couldn't _not_ watch. The window cleaner's chest was just a stunning as Marth might have imagined. Flawless skin flexed over subtly defined muscles. The man's smile broadened, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

_I'm back_, he mouthed.

Marth felt his insides melting.

The window cleaner bent down to retrieve his sponge, and then, to Marth's confusion, began soaping up a small section of the window in front of him. Having done this he put the sponge down and then, raising his eyebrows at Marth ever so slightly, he pressed his chest to the soaped window and began to rub against it rhythmically.

Marth watched him in shock and embarrassment, an unintelligible sound choking the back of his throat. It was a show. For him. The man's skin slid smoothly over the window, up and down. Up and down. _So that was why he put the soap there._ No! Marth gave himself a mental slap. Friction really wasn't the most pressing issue here. For goodness sake – there was a man, a _fit_ man, practically strip teasing outside his office window. It felt like an occasion for swearing.

"Marshmallows," Marth muttered. He didn't really do swearing.

The window cleaner was enjoying himself, licking his lips in an erotic manner and…_gyrating_. Marth was rapidly turning red. That man really knew how to…use his hips. _Look away, look away…_ But he could still hear a quiet squeaking as the window cleaner's chest moved against the glass. He couldn't ignore it, he just couldn't.

Standing decisively he left his desk and walked briskly towards the window, physically forcing his eyes elsewhere as he opened the section of the window on the right and peered out. The man turned slowly to look at him. He was smiling still, completely relaxed and obviously unbothered by whatever Marth might have to say. Which was, currently, nothing. It felt like his voice had simply closed off.

"Nuhhh," he managed. There was so much adrenalin coursing through him he felt like he might fall over.

The window cleaner raised an eyebrow. "You've been watching me." It was almost an accusation. The irritation this caused helped Marth recover his voice.

"You drew my attention," he argued back.

"Didn't I just."

Marth was unnerved by his playfulness, and briefly forgot what he was going to say. What came out instead was, "You were…making the window squeak." He blushed instantly. _Marth, you incompetent idiot._

"Would _you_ squeak… if I did it to you?" the man drawled, taking a slow step towards him. The images formed themselves in Marth's mind before he could prevent himself. He resisted the urge to close the window and retreat hastily out of the room.

"Uh…" Why did he feel like he had to answer this question? It was this guy that was in the wrong, not him. "I don't think that's a professional thing to be doing…" he tried, vainly attempting to keep his tone as measured as possible.

"Correct," the man answered, sounding amused. "It was…_totally personal._"

Lost, Marth tried a managerial voice. "I think you should come inside."

"Oooh, what _are_ you suggesting?" With his low, steady voice and soapy toplessness, everything about him made it blatantly clear what _he_ was suggesting. Marth was beginning to feel that if he stayed a moment longer in the man's presence he would be provoked into doing something highly unprofessional. Like slap him.

"I'd rather you…not do that again," he finished, desperate now to simply escape.

The man shrugged. "Yeah, sure." But something in his tone of voice implied that he might easily switch it for something equally suggestive instead. Or perhaps it was just Marth's imagination. He was just a window cleaner; they would probably never see each other again anyway. Marth closed the window. Well, there was no chance of getting any more work done now. Collecting his things quickly he headed for the door.

As soon as he was outside of the room, however, he felt his confidence returning. How could he let the man get away with embarrassing him like that? He was only a window cleaner! And that office was Marth's space, not his, and he'd just given it up to a man that hadn't even technically been _in the room._ He felt infuriated. With himself, with the window cleaner. Only now did the witty and professional responses occur to him, inevitably now that the moment was gone. Well this was his right! To a bit of peace in his own office! He couldn't just give it up like this! Re-energised, he turned and went back into the room.

The window cleaner was still there. Unaware of Marth he was running his hands slowly down over his chest and torso, wiping the soap off. It was provocative but unguarded, unintentional. His expression was serious, and when he was done he wiped off the small patch of smeared soap off the window before reaching for his top. Marth hesitated, suddenly feeling as he watched that he could almost warm to him, this more professional, simply attractive man. But then the window cleaner looked up and saw Marth watching him. He blinked, surprised, but smiled easily and Marth's heart rate rocketed like a small firework.

_Hello again,_ he mouthed.

Marth fled the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thanks to all readers and to Demise Angel, Squilf and an anonymous for reviewing!

* * *

Marth had only just stepped through the front door and already there was a note at his feet. He bent down and picked up the crumpled piece of lilac paper.

_Hi Marth!_

_Why don't you have a relaxing bath?_

_Then check the fridge _:-)

_Lots of love,_

_Pit xxxxxxx_

Marth sighed. Pit had been his boyfriend for six months now, but he had only entrusted a spare house key to him in the last three weeks, and was already beginning to regret it. But as he was tired he took Pit's suggestion and trawled upstairs to the bathroom. He pushed open the door lazily, only just slipping off his shoes when it suddenly occurred to him what he was actually seeing.

"Oh Pit," he sighed.

The bath was filled and – he tested it – still warm. Rose petals floated on the top, and even (where had he got that?) a water lily. Around the edge of the bath, and on the windowsill, were candles, were tea-lights in cream and pink, softly lighting the room and giving the room a romantic air. There was a pink Post-It note on the taps.

_Enjoy! xxxxxxx_

Marth smiled despite himself. Undressing, he slipped into the bath and let himself relax, thinking over the day. That window cleaner had really unnerved him. He still wished that he might have conducted a more confident argument with the man. How _dare_ someone make him feel so awkward… but he hadn't been that excited in ages. Terrified, partially, but not exactly threatened. Perhaps that was what it felt like to go on a rollercoaster, Marth pondered. He'd never been on a rollercoaster.

Marth fiddled absently with the Post-It note as he lay there, then eventually grabbed a towel and wandered back downstairs to see what Pit had in store for him in the fridge.

Lasagne. And a bowl of salad on the side.

He took out the lasagne tray and cut himself a slice, putting it in a bowl before putting the bowl in the microwave to warm up. As the green digits counted down to dinner he spotted another Post-It note stuck to one of the cabinets.

_I got some more coffee earlier. I felt thirsty and noticed there wasn't any. Hope you don't mind the brand._

_Pit xxxxxxx_

Sometimes, Marth thought, Pit acted a bit like his mother. Although, in fairness, his mother hadn't drank coffee. For a long time she'd forbidden Marth from having it too, labelling it 'a dangerous drug'. And not for sensitive people, like Marth. Marth had just taken her word for it. Turning, he headed towards the phone to check for any messages. He pressed a button and waited.

_You have, three, new messages, and, zero, saved messages. First, new message. Received today, at eight, sixteen a.m._

"Hey Marth, it's me, Pit. Just to let you know I emailed you last night with a link to that program you missed. So check your email! Bye!"

_Second, new message. Received today, at ten, fifty six a.m._

"Hey Marth, it's Pit again. I was just thinking, we should go on a mini-break sometime. Tell me if you have any hotel preferences! Bye!"

_Third, new message. Received today, at five, forty nine p.m._

"Hey Marth, Pit here. Phone me when you get home! I have a surprise for you!"

_End of messages. _

A long dull tone followed. Marth stared at the phone blankly. Should he call back? Well, he could hardly refuse to, could he? After a long moment he picked up the phone and dialled. Pit, naturally, picked up almost instantly.

"Hey! Marth! Are you home now?"

"Yes –"

"Give me five minutes I'll be right over!"

"Er –"

"See you in a bit!" he called cheerily, and then hung up before Marth could get another word in. Slowly, Marth hung up, and did the only thing he could think of – put another piece of lasagne in the microwave for Pit. And then he waited.

As Pit had so eagerly promised, five minutes later he was on the doorstep, a happy smile plastered on his face. Fresh faced, he might have stepped out of the shower a mere half hour before. In a clean white shirt and casual jeans he presented Marth with a small package, waiting bashfully for him to open it. But it was several moments before Marth made a move to take it from him, being too preoccupied with Pit's appearance. How had he managed it? He worked practically the same hours as Marth. And yet somehow, around that time, he'd managed to make Marth a meal and run him a bath with candles, get washed and dressed _and_ find a gift to give him as a surprise present. Marth had always prided himself on his appearance, but after a day's work and even a bath he was fairly sure he didn't look even two thirds as energetic as Pit did now. _How?_

"Marth?"

"Oh, right, yes, thank you." He took the package and unwrapped it slowly, pulling off the pretty turquoise ribbon and putting it in his pocket before pulling off the wrapping paper. Chocolate.

"Thank you." Marth smiled. Such a traditional gift, and he didn't dare think of the calories, but he was grateful all the same.

"No, turn it over," Pit urged.

"Huh?"

"Go on!"

Puzzled, Marth slowly flipped over the chocolate bar in his hand so that he was looking at the other side. Stuck to the back, presumably with Blu-Tack, was a theatre ticket. _Oh heck_.

"Pit, I can't accept this." Marth tried to force both the chocolate and the ticket back into Pit's hands, but he wouldn't take them.

"No, you must. I have a ticket too, it's next Saturday. You can make it, right?"

"Pit, I…This is…"

"Marth?"

"Uh…" Marth fumbled awkwardly for what he was trying to say, and failing that, realised they were both still talking either side of the front door, and the draft was getting in.

"Why don't you come in for a bit?"

"Okay!" Pit slipped past him easily, and Marth shut the door.

"So?" Pit prompted once they were both inside.

"Well –"

"Did you get the lasagne?"

"I was just about to have some. Would you like some?"

"Yes, okay!"

Marth went into the kitchen and spread the lasagne slices and salad over two plates before bringing them over to the table. Pit sat down quickly and began to tuck in.

_If I hadn't offered him some,_ Marth thought to himself with the slightest twinge of guilt, _he would have cooked dinner twice tonight._

"Pit, I don't know how much that ticket must have cost you," Marth began.

"Oh, no! Don't worry, it's my gift! 'Legally Blonde', you'll love it!"

"I…I can't…"

"But you can make it?"

"Yes…"

"Then why?" Pit's face was one of innocent concern.

"It's too much," he tried, exasperated, knowing already that Pit wouldn't understand.

"Too much money? You don't have to pay me back." He smiled again, but at the sight of Marth's expression the smile faded. "What?"

"All this…the food…the bath…the theatre ticket…" Marth trailed off hopelessly.

"You don't like it?" Pit asked worriedly.

"No, no, it's lovely…"

"But you're not happy?"

"I, oh…" There was never going to be a way to explain. "Tough day at work," he muttered, taking the easy way out.

"Oh." Pit pulled a sympathetic face. "Shall I make hot chocolate after dinner?"

"Ok," Marth mumbled, swallowing another mouthful of lasagne. It was the lesser evil, wasn't it? And he hadn't been _completely _lying. Though whether 'tough' quite described his day was something that could be debated.

Later, curled up on the sofa next to Pit, Marth wondered if he should tell him about what had happened with the window cleaner. But now that it was evening the story didn't seem as grand or relevant – it was just a slightly crazy man with a suggestive tone of voice who he would never see again. What would that matter to Pit? Pit had made this evening so easy for him – how could he repay him with tales of his fleeting attraction to some stranger? He sighed, gently teasing his fingers through Pit's soft brunette hair.

"I love you," Pit whispered.

Boy, what an overused phrase. But Pit meant it. Marth tilted his chin downwards and kissed the top of Pit's head. "Mmmm."

"Is that 'I love you too'?" Pit teased.

"Mmmm," Marth repeated. Pit giggled.

"Stop humming into the top of my head like that. It tickles."

Marth grinned, and did it again. Pit squirmed, giggling some more. "Ma-arth." He reached on arm around and tickled Marth's neck.

"Aahh!" Marth pushed him backwards on the sofa and reached for his feet threateningly.

"No! Don't!" Pit squealed.

"I will…"

"Aaahh!" Pit wriggled in a funny way, accidentally misbalancing on the edge of the sofa and rolling off onto the floor.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes!"

Marth reached teasingly for his feet again.

"No! Or I won't make you cake tomorrow like I was going to!" Pit joked.

Marth hesitated as he absorbed this information. Then slowly, he sat back upright on the sofa.

"Are you tired?" Pit prompted.

Marth looked at him. "A little," he said after a pause.

"Ok, I'll let you rest. See you tomorrow!" He grinned, standing and almost skipping towards the door. With a happy wave and a blow kiss he let himself out. Marth gave a small smile. Pit thought he was tired, so he was leaving him to rest. He was considerate like that.

* * *

Morning. Marth looked at his neat desk and took a deep breath. A fresh start. No Post-It notes, no old mug, not even a photograph. Ready for another day's work. His eyes turned slowly towards the window. Nobody.

Half an hour later his desk was a mess again, pieces of work scattered everywhere as he struggled with his latest assignment. The desire to put it all off and kick back was getting stronger – there was a vending machine just around the corner, if he remembered correctly. But that wouldn't be healthy…

His mind wandered. Somewhere out there his successful sister was pacing up and down some court, bringing justice and defending the innocent. She wouldn't resist going to the vending machine, but she wouldn't have time to because of her busy schedule. At lunch breaks she would meet up with handsome colleagues and chill out in a charming café somewhere, talking over the latest case. Her life was a world away from Marth's, sitting here alone in an office. She had always been the most successful sibling. Marth sighed. He liked his life. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wished it would be a little more…_exciting._

A low whirring noise began. Marth looked at his computer worriedly, wondering if it was overheating. But as he leaned over to look at it his memories did a violent catch up. He knew that sound.

Marth slowly turned to face the window, disbelieving.

_He was back._


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Thank you to ADashOfInsanity and Hinaara for reviewing!

* * *

It was definitely him. He was wearing the same orange puffer jacket as before, again unzipped. This time the tank top beneath was white. The window cleaner smiled at him. Marth stared back, worried. The window couldn't need cleaning again, could it? What was he doing here? The security that Marth had felt on reassuring himself that he would never meet the man again was now instantly vaporized. He tried to ignore him and get on with his work, but the attempt was always going to be futile.

The window cleaner stayed where he was.

Five minutes passed. Marth knew he ought to do work so that the window cleaner would know that he wasn't paying him any attention and wasn't interested in him being there. But he _was_ distracted, that was the simple fact of the matter. He couldn't help himself. Why wouldn't the man go away? Maybe if he just kept ignoring him the man would eventually leave. But what if he didn't? What if he just kept standing there? Marth took a deep breath, wondering if simply from watching outside his window the window cleaner could tell that his heart rate was elevated, stressed. He would have to talk to him. If he tried to go on working like this he would never be able to focus.

The decision made, it still took him several moments to pluck up the courage to walk over to the window, and with shaking hands, open it.

"Hello again." The man turned and smiled at him with ease.

Marth swallowed. "What are you doing back here?" He tried to sound demanding but his voice went too high at the end.

"Just meeting and greeting the general staff…you in particular."

Marth quickly wished he'd never begun to speak to this guy at all. "Could you please…leave me to do my work?" he tried.

The man tilted his head on one side. "Why don't you come out? It's impractical to talk through a window like this."

"No, I –"

"Come on." He extended a hand towards Marth. "I'll pull you in." His tone and expression were rife with double meanings. Marth didn't know where to look, what to do.

"Or would you rather I come in?"

"No!" Marth yelped automatically, responding to the tone and its suggestive implications rather than the question itself.

"Then you'll have to come out."

Marth shook his head firmly, the power of speech eluding him.

"Come on. It's easier than you think."

"I don't need to come out," Marth mumbled. Being this close to him was unnerving enough.

"I know." The man briefly raised an eyebrow, and his smile widened.

"I…I'm afraid of heights," Marth continued uselessly.

"Why? There's no need to be afraid…of heights." His tone lowered suggestively, his eyes assertive.

"No, I can't…"

"It's easy. Just slip a leg out and I'll help you."

Marth looked away, wishing he could think of a way to successfully end this conversation so that he could get away from the window…and the window cleaner would get away from him.

"Come on."

"It's alright for you. You've probably spent a lot of your _life_ going in and out of windows," Marth retorted automatically, only a moment later realising what he had just said, and how the man could interpret it. He blushed furiously.

The window cleaner's hand was still extended towards him. Looking at it Marth felt a sudden desire to fight this fear and embarrassment, and conquer that part of him that still wanted to run away. He didn't want to be weak. Reaching out impulsively he took the proffered hand.

The contact immediately shocked him back to himself. What was he doing? The man's hand was cold, where somehow he had expected it to be warm – but of course, he'd been waiting outside. With a nervous twitch Marth almost pulled his hand free again but the window cleaner, in a single assured movement, pulled him towards the box, and for fear of falling messily over the edge Marth automatically swung a leg over the side. And he was in.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" the window cleaner asked rhetorically. He let go of Marth's hand. Marth didn't know what to say. In the discussion of whether or not he should go in the box he'd forgotten why he'd approached the man in the first place. He'd wanted to argue that the man should _go away._ And now he'd just gotten into the window cleaning box _with_ him. He'd just usurped his own plan. To get the man to go away would first involve going back through the window he'd just climbed out of. How could he have been such an _idiot_?

"But then again, I have, as you say, spent a lot of time going in and out," the man continued, ignorant of Marth's thoughts. He continued retrospectively, "I always find the mounting easier than the dismounting." His voice never lost the ambiguously sexual undertone that accompanied it so naturally. As Marth watched his lips form the word 'mounting' he felt a ridiculous urge to giggle. _No, not appropriate. Think!_

"So…did you have something to say to me?" the man prompted.

Yes, this was his cue. _Say something sensible_, he ordered himself._ Be assertive._ But as he tried to look anywhere but the window cleaner's face his eyes inadvertently passed over the edge of the box, glimpsing the terrifying drop below.

"Marshmallows!" he yelped, leaping back towards the window. The movement made the box judder slightly, causing him to yelp again. The window cleaner raised an eyebrow.

"Was that all?" he joked, amused.

"I…" Marth's heart was thumping alarmingly inside his ribcage.

"Try not to look down," the man advised unhelpfully. Marth ignored him, knowing at the same time that he was gaping stupidly as he took deep breaths, leaving no breath to confront him with. Why was he trying to have this conversation outside, why? It would have been better to let the man into his office… _Oh heck, the height…_

"Just don't look at it."

But when Marth looked down at the floor of the box he could still see the drop at the edge of his vision. A slight moan escaped him as a sense of nausea began to take hold.

"Honestly." The window cleaner took him firmly by the shoulders and physically forced him to move so that he was at the outside edge of the box facing inwards towards the window. Marth momentarily felt better, but then panicked. The wall of the box only just passed waist height and as he felt it press against his back he was seized by an acute terror of falling over the edge. With a shriek he moved forward, trying to get away, but only succeeded in bumping himself against the window cleaner, who was still standing directly in front of him, holding his shoulders.

"You're not going to fall," the window cleaner stated simply. But Marth was still scared. Because of his position he couldn't see the drop but he still knew it was there, maybe hundreds of metres… He screamed weakly, trying to turn his head so that he could keep an eye on the danger.

"Don't look," the man repeated, removing his hands from Marth's shoulders and gently but firmly cupping his face instead, stopping him from turning his head. His shoulders freed, Marth tried to twist away but the window cleaner sensed his intentions and moved his entire body fully against Marth's, pinning him against the side of the box. Feeling the rim of the side press once more at the base of his spine and knowing only about an inch of metal stopped him falling to his death Marth tried once more to push free, but there was nowhere to move except against the man that had pinned him there. His skin flushed cold, and then hot. Dark, vivid blue eyes gazed back into his encouragingly. Marth could only stare back wildly, afraid. Panicked, he thrust his hips back against the wall of the box and then violently forward again, trying to budge them both away from the edge, towards safety. But the man complimented his movements, and he remained stuck.

"You're fine," the window cleaner reassured him.

Marth screamed, closing his eyes in fear. He clutched at the man's top. If he was going to fall, he was damned well going to take this man with him…

"My name's Ike, by the way," the man said calmly.

Marth screamed one last time and then quietened, getting his breath back. With his eyes closed and therefore unable to feed his paranoia, he actually managed to understand the words. He felt the man's steady breathing against him, the warmth building between their bodies, and for a moment these things seemed to override the feeling of the metal edge against his back. The man had just introduced himself, he realised. And unlike him, the window cleaner was completely and utterly calm. Marth began to feel a bit foolish.

And then he remembered he was at the edge of a small box very very high up on the side of a building.

"IKE!" he screeched.

Ike laughed. "Nah, that's terrible." He lowered his voice seductively. "Ike." His hold on Marth released slightly and Marth felt some of the heat that had been trapped between them escape and flow up over his body as a warm flush.

"What?" he managed.

"Say it like _I_ say it," Ike explained slowly, teasingly.

Marth opened his eyes. Being confronted with such a menial suggestive task whilst in such a perilous position almost irritated him. Areas of his brain began to unfreeze in order to tackle the problem, forcing his fear down as his attention was diverted. Ike was smiling at him, still impeccably composed. Now a part of his fear had been subdued Marth became more aware of how close Ike's face was to his, how his playful eyes were watching him, waiting. This in turn distracted him further, enabling him to suddenly realise afresh how closely they were pressed together, and had been that way long enough now for their body heat to match so that it felt they had almost fused, were it not for the evidence of his eyes and the soft pressure against his chest and the tops of his thighs. And finally he realised that Ike's hands, warm now, were still cupping his face. As he registered all this Ike lifted one of his hands away, turning it slightly before stroking two fingers across Marth's cheek from the base of his jaw to a sensitive spot just behind the back of his earlobe.

"Ike," he gasped reflexively.

"Better." Ike slowly lowered both his hands and took Marth gently by the wrists, guiding him away from the edge and back towards the window. Their bodies had separated now, and Marth felt the cold air seep back in to fill the space.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise you would be so afraid." Ike's apology sounded so genuine Marth was momentarily disarmed. He hadn't realised he would be that afraid either. His fear of heights had always been significant, but never uncontrollable like that. At some point he suspected he had muddled two stimuli into the one response. He'd thought at the time that the bigger response had been entirely due to his fear of heights, and become all the more worried for his unusual reaction… But now that he could think clearer again he realised his feelings had been more… confused.

"Are you alright?" Ike asked.

Marth blushed furiously, all the places Ike had touched unhelpfully choosing this moment to remember the inadvertent intimacy of their embrace.

"I'm fine." He had to get out of the window cleaning box, now. Stepping around Ike he moved towards the open window.

"Do you need a hand?"

"No, I can –" Marth froze. There was a slight gap between the box and the window that he hadn't really noticed before. Through it he could see all the way down the side of the building, a nauseating height. He looked quickly away. Somehow getting through the window looked more difficult from this angle.

"The dismounting's always harder," Ike commented.

Marth began to reach for the window, his hand shaking. But he couldn't do it. But he _had_ to do it, or he'd be stuck in this box forever…

"AAAAHHH!" He screeched as he felt himself being lifted off the floor. Ike, cradling him, stepped over the side and through the window, before lowering him to his feet inside the office.

"There you go." Ike grinned. Marth, feeling rather shaky, staggered back towards his desk and sat down. He heard Ike turn and step back out of the window, and then a low whirring noise. When he finally dared to look back towards the window the box was just disappearing out of sight.

He hadn't actually persuaded Ike to leave, he realised.

In fact, now he thought about it, he hadn't even tried.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Thanks to KoNekoKirara, xx-PikaIkeKirby-xx and WayRoundWrong for reviewing!

* * *

When he got home that evening he barely noticed the lilac note that lay waiting on the doorstep. His thoughts preoccupied he wandered automatically through to the kitchen to put on the kettle but stopped short at the sight of a large tin sitting on the side, topped with a pink ribbon. It took his mind a few moments to catch up. Of course. Cake. Having remembered this he turned and went back to the front door to pick up the lilac note. Pit. Gosh, he hadn't thought about him until now.

_Hey Marth,_

_There's cake in the kitchen – hope you like it!_

_See you soon!_

_Lots of love,_

_Pit xxxxxxx_

Marth put down the note and sighed before heading back to the cake. It had been decorated beautifully too; first with a lemon drizzle icing and then melted chocolate had been piped into elegant letters reading simply: _I love you._ Marth prodded the 'y' experimentally. The icing was solid, so completed a while ago, and the cake was at room temperature rather than still warm from the oven. How early had Pit got this done just so that it would be ready for him now? It wouldn't be the first time he'd come home to baked delights, either. There had been muffins and cupcakes and cookies… Marth hoped Pit was simply a natural cook, because his mind could barely cope with the idea that Pit might have learnt and practised all those recipes just for him. A small surge of affection flowed through him – how much would Pit do for him? Turning where he stood he cast a surveying glance around the kitchen, looking for any Post-It notes. His eye paused at the sink – not because there was a note there, but because he was sure there used to be a stubborn stain on the edge of the draining board, which now seemed to have vanished. No doubt Pit's doing. He must have either used a really strong chemical or scrubbed for ages, Marth mused. Then he gave himself a mental slap. He was meant to be appreciating Pit's efforts, not analysing them…

Yawning he turned back to the cake. Some of the letters had smudged a bit, he realised on closer inspection. Licking a finger he attempted to tidy them, but unluckily the letters he touched either came away or broke. He lifted them off and nibbled them absently. When he looked down at the cake again it read: _I o you._

"I owe you," Marth muttered to himself.

The doorbell rang.

"Coming." He skipped half-heartedly towards the door and opened it.

"Hi!" Pit smiled, his eyes twinkling pleasantly, then leant forward and kissed Marth on the cheek.

"Hi. Thanks for the cake."

"Have you tried some yet?" Pit quizzed excitedly.

"No, I haven't even sat down yet," Marth admitted, amused.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't worry, I was just going to."

"Okay!" Pit practically bounced inside before removing his coat, and rushed into the kitchen. Marth closed the door behind him and then followed. After rummaging briefly in the cutlery drawer Pit turned around to face him, brandishing a knife triumphantly.

"Aahhh, careful!" Marth joked, raising his hands in mock defence.

"Eh?" Pit looked momentarily confused. "I was only going to cut the cake. Unless you want to cut it?"

"Oh, no, you can." Marth blushed. Honestly. Next to Pit he felt positively witty. But it was hardly a wonder that Pit had missed his teasing. The likelihood of Pit deciding to brandish a knife in aggression would be the day the rainbow fell from the sky, pulled on some Lycra shorts, and danced the flamenco on his patio.

"Do you want a big slice?"

"No, small is fine."

"You've eaten the 'l', 'v' and 'e'."

"The icing was smudged," Marth explained.

Pit gave a funny lopsided smile. "Ooopsi!" He looked back at the cake. "Can I eat the 'o'?"

"Sure."

Pit's smile got bigger. "Now it's just 'you' and 'I'." He levered out one slice onto a plate and passed it to Marth. "Sorry for messing the icing."

Marth laughed, amused to think that Pit was fussing over such a tiny detail. "It doesn't matter," he reassured him. "I'll teach you how to pipe it neatly later, if you like." He never really done baking, but he'd always decorated the cakes his mother had baked as a child.

They sat together on the sofa together to eat the cake, Pit oddly quiet with his mouth full. Marth finished his cake equally quietly. He suspected that the pillows had been plumped; they felt somehow more springy than usual.

"Pit," he asked speculatively, "Do you clean my house sometimes when I'm not here?"

Pit looked across at him, big-eyed. "Sometimes. Bits and pieces."

Marth sighed. "You mustn't Pit, you don't need to."

"But I like to make things better for you!"

"But then you'll have no time for yourself."

"Oh, I do! My house is very clean!"

"I know." Marth smiled. He'd been around Pit's house plenty of times, though still not half as many times as Pit had been round his.

"Just in case you ever pop by!" Pit informed him brightly.

Marth didn't know what to say to that. He finished his cake in silence, then took their empty plates back into the kitchen and rummaged around in one of the drawers for one of those pre-packaged chocolate icing tubes. He had several despite the fact he never baked himself any cakes; sometimes he liked to decorate Digestive biscuits with them to pass the time.

Having found the icing he took it back to Pit and offered it to him.

"The trick is," he explained, "to push the nozzle down at the end to break the icing off – if you just lift it it stretches and then falls down again longer than you want it and you have to spend ages fussing to neaten it afterwards."

"Oh!" Pit exclaimed childishly. "Can I try?"

Marth smiled and passed him the tube. Pit looked a little bit confused.

"What shall I practice on?"

"Er…you could put it on a plate…" Marth ventured, not really thinking.

Pit giggled. "That would be weird."

"Well then…why not just try a little on your arm?" Marth eased Pit's left sleeve up and used the icing to draw an experimental line up the centre of his arm just above his wrist. "Yep, that works." He looked up and found, much to his surprise, that Pit was blushing. Probably embarrassed that his own icing hadn't been as neat. He passed the icing tube to Pit. Pit took the tube and drew a parallel line of alternating thickness, still failing to finish it off properly.

"Not quite," Marth commented critically, placing his hand over Pit's and guiding him to draw a third, improved line. "There. Like that."

"Oh. I see." Pit examined it for a moment. "Now what?"

"You'll have to wash it off."

"But that'll be a waste!" Pit squealed.

"Well…" Marth shrugged, only to notice that Pit had blushed even further, his cheeks now a charming shade of deep pink.

"Your line is lovely," he reassured, confused. There was a short pause as his mind slipped the different pieces of information together. _Ohh._ Why hadn't he thought of that? He supposed all his interactions with Ike had left his mind exhausted of all thoughts on that level. But surely Pit didn't think like that? He was still holding Pit's wrist gently. Now he lifted it to his lips and licked a small portion of the icing off. Pit's blush deepened further still. A surprised smiled flitted over Marth's lips. So he was right.

"_Pit._" The answer to the removal of the icing must have occurred to Pit as soon as he'd drawn the first line.

"What?"

"I didn't think you thought like that."

Pit looked down at his lap, his embarrassment only enhancing his blush.

"Would you like me to…?" Marth blushed himself, unable to finish the sentence. Pit avoided his gaze, a smile lifting his lips despite himself. After an intense pause Marth raised Pit's wrist once more to his lips and kissed him gently up the arm, teasing the icing away with his tongue as he went. He felt Pit's gently thrumming pulse beneath his lips and moved closer to him, watching his expression change in anticipation. And then with a characteristic sudden boisterousness Pit leant forward and kissed Marth quickly on the lips.

Together they fell backwards onto the sofa in a sort of playful hug, Pit on top. They kissed again, lingering a little longer this time. Marth sighed happily, waiting for the urgency, the rush of hot blood, the passion. Pit kissed the tip of his nose.

"I love you."

It was almost a fantasy, the idea of being in one of those films where at any moment your lover might suddenly need you – by a wall, in the garden, in a car. Pit stroked an errant strand of hair behind Marth's ear.

"You're beautiful."

Perhaps Marth was rather too much of a romantic. He didn't know if he'd be able to handle that sort of attraction if it actually happened. As Pit ran one hand lightly over his ribs he threw one arm luxuriously back over the arm of the sofa, enjoying the sensation. Unfortunately his hand promptly collided with something behind him and he snatched it back, surprised.

You have, five, new messages…

He'd managed to hit the phone.

"I love you," Pit whispered gaily as he kissed him again tenderly on the shoulder.

…_today, at ten, thirty one, a.m._

"You're so special." Pit snuggled against him, softly caressing his cheek.

…_me, Pit. Hope you can…_

Marth gritted his teeth, willing the answering machine to be quiet.

"My only love." Another kiss from Pit distracted him, but he could still hear it.

…_you later! Second, new message…_

That mechanical voice was so off-putting. When would it end? He fumbled with one hand behind his head, trying unsuccessfully to find the right button to quieten it.

As if oblivious Pit continued to kiss him, murmuring lovingly into his ear as he wrapped one hand around Marth's waist.

"I love you," he repeated.

…_just wondering if you have seen…_

"My soul mate…"

…_received today, at…_

"I –"

"Stop it! SHUT UP!" Marth blurted out, irritated, flailing at the phone but only managing to knock it to the floor dramatically. Pit had completely frozen where he was, his expression hurt.

"No, no, I meant the answer phone," Marth apologised, but this only slightly modified the wounded look on Pit's face.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"That voice was so annoying," Marth explained.

"But that was _my_ voice," Pit pointed out like an upset child.

"The…I…The messages were distracting me from kissing you."

Pit looked up at him woefully. "Am I annoying?"

"No," Marth quickly denied, ruffling his hair.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm sorry."

"You can tell me – did I annoy you?"

"No, not at all."

"Just a little bit?"

"No, no."

"I didn't mean to annoy you."

"It's okay, you didn't."

"I'm not that annoying, am I?"

"No Pit."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"_Yes?_ So you mean I _am_ annoying."

"No! No I don't, that wasn't what I said, no."

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry."

"But I annoyed you."

"No you didn't."

"I did."

"You didn't."

"I did."

"You didn't."

Pit paused. "Oh," he said quietly. "Okay."

Marth kissed him on the forehead. "It's fine, Pit."

Pit slowly nodded. After a long moment he sat up on the sofa and gave a small smile. "Glad you like the cake."

Marth smiled back. "It was lovely."

Pit stood slowly and began to head towards the front door. "I'd better go," he muttered.

"Okay. See you tomorrow?" Marth ventured guiltily.

"If you like," Pit agreed shyly.

Marth watched him go with a tinge of sadness. He had to admit that the evening hadn't quite looked like it was going to end like that… Turning, he glared at the phone.

_I blame you_, he thought at it.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Thanks to WayRoundWrong, MarsMonster, xx-PikaIkeKirby-xx, KoNekoKirara and la lapin for reviewing!

* * *

Having had his original expectation of never seeing the window cleaner again well and truly blasted, Marth was on his guard the next morning. But as the morning gradually slipped by with no sight of him he slowly relaxed, and as lunchtime came he sat down with a cup of coffee. He was relieved, although, as he swivelled around on his chair in the oppressive silence of the room, he also felt somehow disappointed. Both times he had seen the man he had completely failed to be professional, or to authoritatively demand the man to leave – he'd let himself down. Not that that was the first thing to came to mind when he thought of the window cleaner…

Except he wasn't just 'the window cleaner'. Marth knew his name now.

"Ike," he muttered to himself. Not that that should change anything.

The sun streamed in through the window and he clicked his pen, ready to get back to work, but moments later he put it down again. Where _was_ Ike? If he'd visited yesterday, which was unnecessary enough, why not today? He wandered slowly towards the window, trying to pretend to himself that he was actually aiming for the bookcase to the side of it. Taking a book at random he leant back against the window and flicked through some of the pages, pretending to himself that he was reading. It was quite a good spot for reading, Marth thought vacantly, what with the light coming in through the window behind him. Except he wasn't actually reading. He sighed.

_Tap tap._

The unexpected sound nearly sent him leaping out of his skin. With a startled jerk he twisted around to face the window, the book falling from his hands. His heart fluttered as if falling like the feet of a stumbling fool, having missed a beat.

_Oh heck – so much for another chance at being professional._

Ike smiled back at him, amused.

Marth took a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself. _Be calm and authoritative. Calm and authoritative._ He would have liked to ignore Ike altogether, but Ike was hardly going to believe that he hadn't noticed him after that. Keeping his hands as steady as possible he opened the window.

"Could I ask you to leave please?" he asked quickly before Ike could get a word in.

"You could," Ike replied evasively. Briefly thrown, Marth struggled a minute to find his words. Ike waited with an infuriatingly patient expression on his face.

"I _am_ asking," Marth managed.

"And I'm answering." Ike grinned.

Marth suppressed a sigh, exasperated. "Technically, yes, b–"

"I'm good with technicalities." The double meaning came easily into his tone of voice, a natural ability he enhanced with a casually inappropriate mime. Marth tried not to blush and failed miserably. It was hard to know what to say in the face of something so openly suggestive. Ike took advantage of his momentary speechlessness.

"I've got a present for you."

"Uh…no, no," he mumbled, flustered, automatically fearing the worst. He couldn't actually imagine what the worst might be, but his stomach, which was currently tying itself in knots, evidently could. Ike used one hand to open the window wider and reached the other hand behind him to pull free a slim package which he held out to Marth, who stared at it.

"Did you just take that out of the back of your trousers?" he muttered, barely realising that he spoke aloud.

"I like to hold things close to me."

Marth sensed a mix of different meanings, at least one of which made him feel slightly threatened. He fought the urge to take a step back from the window. Ike's present was still extended towards him and he took it almost by reflex.

"What is it?" he asked automatically, instantly scolding himself. _Wrong question!_

"Can't you tell from feeling through the packaging?" Ike grinned, raising an eyebrow.

_Why couldn't he have asked why Ike was giving it to him, why he wouldn't go away – why did he have to ask what it was? _"No…" he mumbled.

"Then why not rip it all off and find out?" Ike proposed, running two fingers briefly over the collar of his puffer jacket to emphasise the relentless innuendo. Marth was completely lost for words. Uselessly he tried to compose a sentence that would get the conversation back onto a more professional track.

"Go on," Ike encouraged, interrupting his thought processes.

Curious, and feeling unable to do anything else, Marth gently tugged at the brown wrapping paper until it fell away. He was left holding a silver photo frame with elegantly twisted edges, following a sort of simple organic design. Marth looked back up at Ike, not knowing if he should be picking up on some obscene implication, and feeling ridiculous for want of knowing if he should be embarrassed.

"You don't have any photos on your desk," Ike stated simply.

"No," Marth replied hopelessly.

"Do you like the frame?" Ike asked after the pause.

Marth was too confused to do anything but answer the question. "Yes."

Ike smiled, reaching a hand through the open window and lifting Marth's chin gently with a finger, looking either amused or touched by his lack of assertiveness.

"Hey," he said softly.

Marth looked into his eyes – they seemed so close and intense, yet open and playful at the same time. "I…" He trailed off. He wasn't even sure if he had been beginning a sentence, or simply Ike's name.

"Well I'm glad you like it. I'll go now, if you like." Ike's hand dropped and Marth blinked, snapping back to himself.

"Unless you fancy coming out here again?" Ike offered.

"No," Marth said firmly, at last, too late. He turned and walked briskly away from the window, only to trip over the corner of his own desk as he attempted to sit down. Behind him Ike chuckled in a friendly way.

"I like the way you fall for me," he joked. And then with the simple press of a button he rose out of sight. Marth stared out of the empty window. In his right hand he still held the picture frame Ike had given him. It seemed that, once again, the window cleaner had left entirely of his own accord.

* * *

Back at home after work Marth pondered what to do with the unexpected present. He felt that he should probably throw it away, but it wasn't in his nature to throw away a gift, even though it was from a random window cleaner. It was a shiny, new looking frame, probably a recent purchase. But why would Ike give it to him? There had to be a meaning to it, surely? He weighed it in his hands, and then took it upstairs. What was that expression – if life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Well life had given him a photo frame, and he supposed he might as well put a photo in it.

Underneath his bed was where he kept the few slim packets of photos he owned, and now he pulled one out and opened it. Most of the photos under his bed were from the times he had so far spent with Pit. The packet he was holding was typical of the rest – most of the photos were of him, taken by Pit. Marth sighed with mixed feelings. If Pit ever had a camera when they went out sometimes it seemed to Marth as if he wanted to capture every single moment that Marth smiled. There were proportionately less of them both together, and only a few of just Pit.

He looked through the ones of them both together. In the first one he came across Pit was again the one holding the camera. He'd done a rather wonky job of pointing the lens back at them both, and half of Marth's face was cut out of the picture. Marth put the picture to one side. The picture behind it was a better version of the same picture. Marth put it down on the other side of him as a potential one for the frame. The following few pictures were in a similar style. Pit hadn't cared so much for background as long as it was excuse enough to take a photo of them both, there were ones of them simply standing on the pavement outside nice restaurants. Marth slowly put each of them to one side. They weren't totally irrelevant – most of the restaurants he had been to… some before the photo was taken, several after.

Marth continued to flick through. There was even one of them both standing in front of a new piece of stylish graffiti not far from where he lived. Oddly enough this was one of the best photos – Marth had been caught with a wide, happy smile, capture mid-laugh because at the time he had found the ridiculousness of being photographed in front of graffiti funny. He put this one to the side too. Now there were only three pictures of them together left to look through in this packet. One was blurred and had to be rejected immediately. The second one was a rather sweet one taken at the middle of a bridge on a sunny day at the park. Pit was kissing his cheek and it would have been a rather good picture if it weren't for the fact Marth had been caught mid-blink and consequently looked slightly intoxicated. Which was rather funny, but not for the photo frame, Marth felt. So that left him with the final one before he went back and looked through the ones he'd marked out as the best.

This one had actually been taken by a passer-by. At the last moment Pit had surprised Marth with a hug from the side and Marth had affectionately rested his head on top of Pit's. It was an adorable picture, and Marth smiled looking at it. This would be the best one for the frame, he knew automatically. After a few moments delicate adjustment, it was in. But as he looked at it the doubts began. If he put it up somewhere in his house Pit was bound to notice it. He seemed to spend most of the time buoyantly over-enthusiastic – how would he react to what he would perceive as a step up in their relationship? It wasn't like that at all. Marth might have kept the photo quietly in his bedroom but Pit might choose to do some more spontaneous cleaning and see it. It might result in more gifts, more photos… No, things were fine as they were.

But it wasn't just about Pit. How would _he_ cope with seeing it, knowing that the frame was from Ike? Somehow the thought made him feel uneasy. He took the photo out of the frame and put it back with the other photos inside the packet, which he put back under his bed. Sitting back he let out a sigh.

Just then the doorbell rang. That would be Pit. Marth dropped the picture frame on the bed and went down to answer it.

Much later, when Pit had come and gone, Marth returned once more to his room and sat down on the bed. Pit had been as happy and energetic as always. Marth, feeling tired, had no idea how he did it. Slowly he changed into his pyjamas and lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. It would be Saturday tomorrow. No work. No Ike. His working hours gave him Sunday off always plus any other day in the week that he liked. He always chose the Saturday to accompany it so that he could have the free time like a weekend from his school days. Bits from his day flicked through his mind. Ike. The photo frame. Pit. The photo. He felt himself drifting off.

It seemed almost immediately that the dream came to him. He was in a window cleaning box, looking through the window into his own office. Ike was sitting at his desk, looking out at him with a smile. Suddenly, he became aware that he was topless, though he wasn't cold. In his right hand there was a sponge, wet and soapy. He had to wash himself, he realised abruptly. And with a rushed urgency he began to rub the sponge over his bare chest. He was aware of Ike watching him and he felt hideously embarrassed, but he couldn't stop. He had to get clean. The sponge wasn't working and he began to panic. He wanted to get out but he couldn't, he had to wash himself first, he had to… He became almost angry, scrubbing at himself with the sponge even harder. But it was no use; he was running out of time. He looked back through the window. Ike was still smiling at him. But as he continued to scrub Ike's expression became more serious, and agonisingly slowly, he stood from the chair. Marth began to worry even more. He had to get clean, _he had to get clean_…

And then with a small gasp he was awake.

He felt uncomfortably warm and sweaty as he reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. The dream, unlike dreams were meant to, stayed in his mind, decidedly remembered. His eyes searched the room, looking for the clock, but caught instead on Ike's gift, which he had placed for the time being on top of his chest of drawers. Forcing himself to look away he checked the time. 1:43am. Oh brilliant. He tried to relax, willing himself to forget the stupid dream, but he could still see it out of the corner of his eye.

The empty picture frame seemed to mock him.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Thanks to La Lapin for reviewing!

* * *

When he woke for the second time the bright Saturday sunshine was pouring through his window almost blindingly. He rolled over trying to ignore it but everything was still too bright. He sighed. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes and willed himself to be more awake. Across from him the sunlight glinted on the silver photo frame, still there, still empty. That hadn't been part of the dream then. Standing up he crossed the room in a few impatient strides and taking it from where it stood bunged it instead in one of the drawers where he couldn't see it. There. Out of sight, out of mind. It was probably time he had a shower and got ready. Even though he knew the theatre trip was next Saturday and Pit had said nothing about today he wouldn't put it past him to have planned something.

It wasn't a far stretch of the imagination. Just before noon the doorbell rang and pulling on a thin cardigan Marth went to answer it.

"Hi!"

Marth gave Pit a small smile. "Just let me put on my shoes."

"Okay! Where do you want to go for lunch?"

Marth tied his laces slowly.

"I've heard of a new restaurant that's opened recently, we could go there!" Pit continued exuberantly.

Then the other shoe. Marth finished tying it and stood up, thinking to himself.

"I think it's Spanish, you might like –"

"What about a walk?" Marth interrupted, surprising himself. Pit looked at him curiously. Marth shrugged. "A walk. Just…around the park near town. Then we could get a hotdog or something."

"Okay."

Marth looked down at his feet, unused to being so forward. "It's sunny," he tried to excuse himself.

"I know," Pit agreed cheerily.

Marth stepped outside the front door, locking it behind him. "Okay then."

The park was quite busy, with many families strolling around to take advantage of the weather. It was easy to spot, too, the older children that had been dragged out 'to get some exercise'. There were shoppers and tourists and pensioners… Marth spotted at least two couples kissing on the grass. If Pit spotted them too he made no comment, but he linked his hand through Marth's as they wandered all the same. They chatted sporadically, circling the park until they came round once more to the main gate.

"Hotdog?" Marth suggested.

"We haven't looped the whole park yet," Pit commented.

"Haven't we?" Marth looked around. He remembered there was a more secluded section to one side that he'd forgotten. "No, I suppose we missed the bit on the other side of the pond," he muttered. He felt guilty now it sounded like he had been trying to cut their walk short – he hadn't intentionally skipped a bit. The thought probably hadn't occurred to Pit but Marth knew that he had suggested a walk through the park at least partially because it would be less romantic than a restaurant lunch, and wouldn't last as long. The guilt rattled around in his mind like a stone in his shoe.

"You're right. Come on then." Gripping Pit's hand more firmly he began to head over to the part of the park they had missed, intent on making up to Pit what he didn't even know he was missing.

"You walk fast," Pit teased, breaking into a sort of half skip. Marth instantly slowed down, having barely been aware that he was power-walking.

"Sorry."

"Are you hungry? We don't have to cover the whole park – we can get food now if you like!"

"No, no. I'm fine."

"You're acting funny." Pit bit his lip with a small smile.

_Was there ever a more provocative statement in all the world?_ But Marth refused to let himself take the invitation. "Am I?" he asked nonchalantly.

Pit shrugged and kissed him on the cheek playfully. "Dunno. Shall we find some shade?"

After a few minutes they reached the part of the park they had missed and found a bench under one of the tall trees there. A cool breeze flicked some of Marth's hair across his face. He reached to tuck it back again, but Pit was already there, tenderly brushing it behind his ear for him.

"I haven't done this for ages," Pit said happily. "Years, or something."

Marth smiled at him. "What, walk around the park? Really?"

"Yep!"

"Why not?"

"I used to just chill at the Coffee Cube on spare days like this."

Marth had heard of the place. Now he thought about it Pit had never taken him there, and he had taken him most places.

"Alone?" he asked.

"No." Pit gave a small, confused laugh, and Marth felt embarrassed. But of course Pit had had friends and a life before him, why should he think otherwise?

"Sorry, I didn't mean –" he began.

"Oh it's alright!" Pit smiled.

"Who did you go with then?" he asked.

"Friends," Pit answered vaguely.

Marth blushed, feeling stupid again. "I…We've never been there together."

"No." Pit shrugged awkwardly.

Marth felt his curiosity peaked by the short answer. Normally Pit was all too happy to tell Marth details of his life.

"Why not?"

"I…just…well…It's not much of a venue."

"Oh." So that was all. Marth watched his happy face gaze attentively out over the park. He looked very pretty in this light, as if caught in one of those timeless dreamy moments. On impulse Marth leant forward and kissed his cheek.

"Ma-arth." Pit blushed and leaned away. "Not in public."

Marth knew that he was awkward when other people were watching, but now it occurred to him how odd this was – in every other respect Pit was always seeking to be close to him. He shifted closer to Pit and leaned in to kiss him again, on the lips this time. Pit touched lips with him fleetingly, then ducked and rested his head on Marth's shoulder instead.

"Why can't I kiss you?" Marth asked. As his boyfriend Pit should want him to surely? He thought this would be a good thing to do, a proper couple-y thing, but it seemed Pit wasn't going to give him the opportunity to.

"I suppose…if you like." Pit looked up at him bashfully.

"No, I…" Marth almost felt angry with himself. He didn't want to appear lustful; he'd thought Pit would like a kiss, that was all.

"I don't mind." Pit smiled.

"It's okay." Marth looked away, embarrassed. He knew Pit didn't like to kiss in public; generally _he_ wouldn't either – so why had he tried to? To ease a guilty conscience?

"Shall we go and get a hotdog now?" Marth suggested.

Once they had both bought their hotdogs they meandered slowly through town, window-shopping. Pit was planning on getting some new shoes, but Marth was still thinking about the kiss. He had to kiss Pit, be close to him…forget how close _Ike_ had been to him… He needed to replace those memories with Pit memories, the way it ought to be. Did Pit act shy because he thought that attracted Marth?

Marth swallowed his bite of hotdog and waited nervously for Pit to finish admiring one of the window displays in Topshop. As Pit finished looking and turned to face him he leant forwards tenuously and kissed him again on the lips. The rest of their bodies didn't touch but still Pit pulled away, blushing and looking around him. Marth looked away too, feeling slightly ridiculous at having made the attempt. It was meant to have made him feel better, not worse.

"_Maaarth…_" Pit poked Marth's chest self-consciously, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. Marth stayed quiet.

"That's three times," Pit whispered. Marth didn't know what to say. He'd wanted to show Pit that he cared for him. He'd wanted to show _himself._

"Marth?" Pit prompted shyly.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

Marth stared at him. _Why did he have to ask so bluntly, so innocently?_ "I…" _And how on earth was he meant to answer the question, let alone in public?_ Instead of answering he turned and continued walking. Pit followed him. They were quiet for what felt to Marth like a painfully long time before Pit changed the topic. Marth seized on the conversation eagerly, wanting to forget his embarrassment. However, after they had turned several corners and Pit had given him several smiles, Marth feared the topic would come up again. He fumbled uselessly in his mind to prepare a suitable answer, but luckily just as it seemed Pit was about to make a relating comment something distracted him.

"Let's go and get some milk from Marks & Spencer's," Pit proposed suddenly, gently tugging his arm to urge him away from a bag stall. "You're running out."

"Huh?" Bewildered, Marth let Pit lead him away and around the corner.

"Milk," Pit repeated.

"I heard. But we have time, I was just looking at…" Marth frowned.

"No we have to hurry, it will be closing soon."

Marth glanced at his watch. "No it won't, it's only quarter past three."

"I…uh…"

"Pit?" Marth smiled, surprised by Pit's unusually worried expression.

"Can we go this way for a little bit?" Pit pleaded.

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Did you see someone?" Marth asked, intrigued.

Pit hesitated. "Yes."

"Who?"

"No one important," Pit replied evasively, awkward.

"Then why are we walking the other way?" He looked back over his shoulder and saw Pit looking back too. "Are they following us?"

"No."

"What do they look like?"

"It doesn't matter – I can't see him."

"Who is he?" He knew he shouldn't be pushing for answers – Pit wouldn't if it was him – but he was curious, excited.

Pit paused. "Just someone I knew a long time ago."

"Do I know him?"

Pit shrugged. Marth inwardly willed him to continue, but it didn't look like he was going to. Why, at a time when Marth was most willing to listen to him, was he least willing to talk? It was an unfair irony. Not wanting to pester Pit Marth fell silent, although inside he was still highly curious. They turned into Marks & Spencer's to get some milk.

Much later, having shopped for a medley of unnecessary items, they finally arrived back at Marth's house. Dumping multiple bags in the hallway Marth stumbled through into the lounge and flopped onto the sofa with a weary sigh. Pit went to the fridge and brought Marth back some orange juice before sitting down beside him.

"A good day's shopping!" he announced.

Marth managed a smile. Pit put an arm around his shoulder and snuggled against him contentedly.

"Love you," he mumbled.

Marth shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable. Pit beamed up at him. Marth wondered what he would do in a weekend where he didn't see Pit. Where would he go? Who would he talk to? Pit interrupted his thoughts, leaning up to kiss him. Marth pulled away slightly, partially as a response to the fact Pit had pulled away from him earlier, though it wasn't really a fair comparison. He waited hopefully for Pit to try again so that he might accept him on the second time, but Pit was offended rather than provoked, and sat back.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes." Marth sighed. He drank his orange juice down and then went back into the kitchen for a refill before returning to sit on the sofa. Pit was oddly silent, as if lost in thought. Marth was going to ask him what he was thinking when Pit gently nudged his ribs.

"Won't you say that you love me too?"

Marth tensed slightly. Why was Pit asking him this? Did he suspect something? A meaner part of Marth's mind sensed an opportunity…but he refused to take it. Even if there was something to be said, now was not the time. He hugged Pit close and said what he was meant to.

"I love you too."

The words were simple but to Marth they had never felt more ambiguous. Thoughts, contrary thoughts, seemed to be aligning themselves in his mind but they were muddled and muddied, deep feelings swirling at the bottom of an unwanted well. He spared telling Pit these things, perversely, out of love.

Pit was smiling at him. "See you again tomorrow?"


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Thanks to UchihaChihiro, Flying Pencil, WhimsicalShmoo and Squilf for reviewing!

* * *

And then it was Monday. Marth sat at his desk, organising a series of faxes he'd received. Pit had turned up early on Sunday morning with a bunch of flowers for him but confessed that only at the last minute he'd remembered he'd actually arranged to visit his parents that day. He'd offered to take Marth with him but Marth had declined and instead spent the day watching a series of old films and eating crisps. Oh, and he'd also organised his wardrobe according to season and phoned his sister.

Marth noticed one of the faxes had accidentally been sent through twice and threw one in the bin. What else had he done yesterday? He'd read a bit more of his latest horror novel… He used to read romances, but somehow they didn't have the same appeal as they used to. Anyway, this was all beside the point – he hadn't done anything particularly productive, that was the issue. A day without Pit and he'd done absolutely nothing of any significance. Why should he? Yet he felt disappointed with himself for not doing anything when Pit wasn't around. He needed the excuse…

The clock ticked loudly inside the office. Marth felt his gaze drifting towards the window. He'd also spent five minutes of yesterday staring at the photo frame Ike had given him and wondering what the hell to do with it – five minutes that he'd determinedly forgotten about.

An hour of the morning slowly slipped away. Looking at the clock Marth felt slightly worried at how little work he'd done.

At around quarter past ten a low whirring noise startled him into alertness. He turned automatically to the window. But there was nobody there. Confused, it took him a few moments to realise that the sound was in fact coming from his computer. He felt rather embarrassed – normally he mistook the sounds the other way around.

At ten past eleven he forced himself to admit that he was waiting. Ike had been here last week – Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. But then maybe he was somewhere else this week, or just on Mondays and Tuesdays in general. Marth inwardly scolded himself. Did he _want_ Ike to come back again? What for? So that he could tell him to go away again?

And that, of course, was when he heard the low whirring noise again.

Within moment Ike was outside his window, his playful eyes and posture posing the same question that they always had – _Do you dare?_ Marth didn't know. As he walked towards the window he tried to think what he wanted to say. And then he tried to think of what he _ought _to say. And then he wondered how different those thoughts were.

He opened the window.

"Hi." Ike smiled at him.

"Hi."

There was a long silence. Ike continued to smile at him and Marth waited for him to say something, though half wondering if Ike was waiting for _him_ to speak. But Ike spoke at last.

"Busy?"

"Yes."

"You'll want a break then," Ike replied easily, playfully ignoring the unspoken order in Marth's tone. "So can you climb out on your own?" he continued, "Or must I sweep you off your feet?"

How did he manage those double meanings so easily? Marth didn't answer, but didn't step away from the window either. Moments later Ike's hands grasped his waist and lifted him easily into the window cleaning box beside him, setting him down in such a way that his front slide against Ike's. He stepped away as quickly as possible.

"I was thinking of taking you all the way up," Ike grinned, a casual flick of the eye reminding Marth that the innuendo was never far behind. "To the top of the building," he confirmed leisurely. "There's a wonderful view."

"I'm afraid of heights," Marth reminded him.

"Then don't look down." Ike grinned and pressed a button on one side of the box. They began to ascend. Marth was torn between standing by the edge where there was something to hold on to or standing in the middle where he was less close to the sheer drop beyond.

"I might close my eyes until we reach the top," he told Ike nervously.

"Nonsense," Ike dismissed, "Half the pleasure's in the climb." He grinned.

The window cleaning box rose steady upwards. It wasn't exactly slow, but given the height of the building it would still take several minutes to reach the top. Marth's office was just over halfway up the building.

"Well done, by the way," Ike teased.

Marth looked at him. "For what?"

"Not telling me to go away."

So he'd noticed. Well of course he'd noticed. Marth bit his lip, having a strong feeling that he would live to regret any informality.

"Go away," he muttered dutifully.

Ike laughed. "Alright."

Marth was startled by his reply. What did he mean? Did he mean that after this Marth would never see him again? He couldn't simply leave now – there was nowhere to go.

But it turned out there was. A little way further up there was an open window and Ike stopped the box just outside it.

"Bye then," he said cheerfully. And then he stepped through the window. Beyond it was another office very similar to Marth's. The man at the desk looked up, startled, but then smiled.

"Ike, hey."

"Hey Soren."

They shook hands. Marth watched as they began to chat and wondered what to do. Was Ike going to come back? He'd told him to go away but now that he was standing alone and awkward inside the window cleaning box he was almost beginning to regret it. From inside the room Ike briefly turned back towards him and grinned, but then continued talking. Marth felt ridiculously embarrassed. Clueless, he listened to the conversation in the hope of it ending soon.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," he heard Ike say, "The guy in the box is waiting for me. I'm giving him a sightseeing trip to the top."

"Ah. Have fun." Soren glanced past Ike and gave Marth a wave. "Why didn't he come in and say hello?"

"I don't know," Ike answered with a grin. He turned back to Marth and then gestured back at Soren.

"This is Soren. Soren, this is…"

Marth realised he'd never actually told Ike his name. Now that he moment had come he wasn't sure he wanted to. But he didn't want to be rude to Soren.

"Marth," he answered.

"Nice to meet you," Soren smiled. "Well I won't keep you. See you around Ike."

"Catch you later." Ike gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and then headed back towards the window before climbing out into the box. He pressed the button and they began to ascend once more. Then he smiled at Marth.

"You waited."

Marth didn't like his tone – he hadn't meant it as a flattery. "What else could I do?" he retaliated.

Ike gave him a long look. "You could have climbed through the window after me and left out of the door to Soren's office. You could have searched the box for the down button. At the very least you could have called out after me and ordered me to take you back to your office. But you didn't."

Marth felt like an idiot. "I didn't think of any of those things," he mumbled.

"Because you wanted to wait," Ike concluded for him.

"No –"

He was cut off as Ike pressed a finger to his lips.

"Say what you mean," Ike whispered softly. Marth felt his heart jump slightly. Ike removed his finger. Marth stared at him. Ike looked up at the side of the building.

"Not too far to go. It gets colder further up – are you alright?"

Marth hesitated. "It is a bit cold."

"Here. Have this." Ike slipped off his puffer jacket and held it out to Marth. Marth deliberated a moment and then took it. There was no point making himself feel any more uncomfortable than he already was.

"You can keep it if you like," Ike offered. "I quite like the idea of you underneath my clothes."

The suggestiveness in his voice made Marth want to take the jacket off immediately, but he forced himself not to be affected by it and reached for the zip.

"Oh no, the zip sticks," Ike warned him. "Why did you think I always wore it open?" He grinned. "Here, if you really want it done up, I'll do it." He reached for it and began to pull the zip up. He hadn't been lying – barely an inch above the starting point it jammed, refusing to budge. With a practised jerk and a wiggle it did however come free. But after moving easily for another few inches it once again jammed uselessly just under halfway up. Marth wondered if Ike was acting it this time just so that he could stay close and reached his hands around to try and pull the zip up himself. Their fingers touched. Ike looked up, straight into his eyes and Marth felt his chest constrict. Ike yanked at the zip again. This time the tired thread broke completely and the zipper piece came free in his hand. He shook his head with a smile.

"Never mind." He lowered his voice and added, "That's not the only zip I've broken today."

_Sweet marshmallows, this man…_Did he never stop?

Ike grinned. "That wasn't an innuendo by the way."

Marth blushed scarlet.

Ike's grin widened. "Nah, only fooling with you. It was."

Marth's blush deepened.

"Nice mental images you've got going there." Ike winked.

Marth couldn't help himself. He smiled. It was just too ridiculous. Ike nudged him playfully.

"That's more like it."

"You're impossible."

Ike smiled teasingly. "Oh no, I'm very much _possible._"

Marth rolled his eyes. "I know _that_." As soon as he'd said it he worried. He hadn't meant to play along. Ike noticed his expression change but made no comment. Marth hoped he took it as a sigh that he wasn't interested.

About a minute later they were at the top. Marth looked out over the city below with awe. The air up there seemed fresher, brisker. The sheer face of the building gleamed in the sunlight. The small roads and cars far below seemed to be part of another world. It was stunning, and also terrifying. Marth stepped back from the edge and looked across at the horizon instead. The only things at this height were other skyscrapers.

"The view is stunning from up here," Ike commented needlessly.

"I know."

"I wasn't talking about the buildings."

Ike was looking straight at him. Marth blushed. Ike paused.

"I was talking about the sky."

Marth stared at him. Ike was grinning. He obviously knew exactly what Marth had assumed he'd meant. But had Ike originally meant the sky, or was it some sort of suggestive double bluff?

"Look out to your left," Ike instructed.

Marth turned and looked. In that direction the view was mostly of the maze of roads leading into the city, and less of the skyscrapers and other buildings. Above that the sky opened up in a beautiful expanse of pale blue dotted with a few puffy white clouds.

"I knew it would be beautiful." Ike gazed out into the distance, his expression surprisingly serious. "I brought my camera," he added, heading over to the corner of the box where a rucksack was sitting. Marth watched him as he took out a digital camera and looked around for the best angle. He took a few photos and then turned to Marth.

"Do you want any of you?"

Marth shook his head. "No thanks."

"What about any of me?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I've got a boyfriend," Marth blurted out.

If Ike felt anything on hearing this news it wasn't obvious.

"You haven't got a photo on your desk," he said, as if it was a completely disconnected sentence.

Marth looked away. "I haven't found the right one yet."

It was only when Ike paused deliberately that he realised the statement could be taken another way.

"Haven't you?" Ike asked softly.

Marth didn't know what to say. There was a long pause.

"Are you sure you don't want any photos of you?" Ike prompted after a while. "I'll take them on your mobile if you like."

Marth wavered. If the pictures were on his mobile he'd have control over them.

"Alright." He handed over his phone. Ike told him to stand by one of the side and then took a few photos before passing the phone back to Marth.

"Still afraid of heights?" he asked Marth with a smile.

"A little."

Ike pressed another button and the window cleaning box began to descend.

"Well done for accompanying me up then."

The tone of his voice seemed genuine enough and Marth smiled, admittedly slightly pleased with himself. It had been a stunning view. All the same he was rather relieved to be returning to his office. Ike helped him back through the window.

"I'd better be off," he confessed. "I do actually have work to do you know." He winked.

"Er…yes." Marth looked down at his feet. "Well I'm…busy…too." Then he realised how pathetic he must sound. He momentarily panicked.

"Goodbye," he snapped curtly, slamming the window shut. What had he been thinking? Did he _want_ to spend more time in that man's company?

Ike smiled thoughtfully back at him through the window. A part of Marth wanted to reopen the window and apologise for his abruptness, but he resisted. Ike gave him a friendly wave through the window, then pressed a button and once again the box moved out of sight. Marth turned and headed back to his desk. Why had he even agreed to go up to the top of the building with Ike in the first place? That man was full of innuendo – spending too much time in his company was bound to be dangerous. Guys who talked like that could only want one thing in particular, and sooner or later Ike would try and claim it. There was no way they could just be friends. Marth wasn't stupid.

Then he realised that he was still wearing Ike's puffer jacket.

"Marshmallows!"


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **Thanks to KoNekoKirara, la lapin, UchihaChihiro, WayRoundWrong, Flying Pencil, Whimsical Shmoo, Neutral-Chaotic and ADashOfInsanity for reviewing since the last chapter!

* * *

Marth stopped at the supermarket on his way home, armed with a simple plan – to make Pit dinner. After everything Pit had done for him, it was the least he could give in return. Anything to make him feel a little less guilty. Though why should he feel guilty?

He browsed through the aisles slowly. Should he make pasta, or soup?

He'd left Ike's jacket at his office, lying on the desk. Just so that if Ike passed that way again he would know Marth hadn't taken it home with him, and would know that it was a complete accident that he'd kept it in the first place.

Soup. A nice, thick soup – tomato. _Then _followed by pasta. Why not go all out? It wasn't like Pit hadn't done five times more on any other day.

He'd already lost his appetite. He looked down at his stomach and scolded it. Why should he feel so awkward? He hadn't _done_ anything.

Tomatoes, cream, sausage, broccoli… He put them all into his basket and went to find some fresh bread, willing himself to be more enthusiastic. In his mind he pictured Pit smiling at him, pleased – but that was how Pit _always_ looked, and it didn't make him feel any more motivated.

Back at home he prepared the tomatoes for the soup and then looked around for any Post-It notes. He found five in total, along with three messages on his answer phone. He checked through all the messages just to be sure they were all from Pit before deleting them, and then collected up the Post-It notes to put in the bin. Just as he was about to drop them in he paused, remembering something. He had a disused biscuit tin for storing these notes – when had he stopped keeping them? He couldn't remember.

When the soup was finished he moved on to the pasta, stirring slowly and wondering when Pit would arrive. It wouldn't be long, anyway. Just as well pasta wasn't a long winded dish. A simple cheese sauce would be nice…

The doorbell rang.

"Coming!"

Marth skipped to the door and pulled it open expectantly. "Pi-it…!" His voice stuck a little in the middle as he glanced down at Pit's arms.

"It's a casserole dish!" he announced proudly.

Marth stared at it.

"Lamb, hope you don't mind!"

Marth continued to stare at it. "Oh," he said at length.

"What is it?"

Marth felt the beginnings of an irrational anger but shrugged as if it didn't matter. "I was making dinner myself."

"Oh…That's okay, you can have that – I can have the casserole!"

Marth looked at him for a moment. "Are you saying my cooking doesn't taste as good?"

Pit's eyes widened. "Oh no, not at all! I'm sure it's wonderful! That's what I mean – you don't have to share," he explained generously.

Confused and slightly irritated Marth replied, "What do you mean? I made enough for two."

"Oh!" Pit blushed.

Before Marth could think of anything else to say Pit slipped past him and into the house.

"I'll just put this in the fridge!" he announced from the kitchen.

Marth slowly closed the front door. So Pit thought he was selfish. Except he didn't – Pit wasn't the sort of person to ever be judgemental. He'd simply, innocently, _expected_ Marth to be selfish. Which was worse.

"Do you need a hand with this pasta?" Pit called.

The evening had somehow gone wrong. Marth barely heard the question and stared into the air, contemplating. He'd wanted to be a better boyfriend by doing this; to ease his guilt, to treat Pit for once. But now he felt that he'd only managed to show up his own inadequacy. Slowly he walked into the kitchen to join Pit.

"Thank you so much for the dinner," Pit beamed at him.

Marth stared at him. The pasta wasn't even finished yet and Pit had finished a whole casserole already to bring over. And Pit was thanking _him_ for the dinner. The hardest part was that he meant it – Marth could see the genuine pleasure in his eyes. He wished, in a way, that Pit had been sarcastic. But how could he wish for Pit to be less lovely than he was? How was that fair?

"This smells lovely." Pit inhaled deeply, still smiling.

_Stop, please stop._ Marth forced himself to smile. "Thank you." He gritted his teeth as soon as he'd said it – he'd gone a bit sarcastic there – had Pit noticed? Why couldn't he be genuine? He looked away for a moment to hide his irritation – with himself – because if Pit saw and asked him if he was alright he knew he wouldn't be able to bear it.

"It's almost ready," he managed in a business-like way. "Fe –" _No, don't fetch the plates, you've done too much already –_ "Why don't you sit down and I'll serve?"

"Okay!" Pit went over to the table and Marth brought him the soup and a few slices of bread to start on, then finished up the pasta, put the lid on and took another bowl of soup over to the table for himself and sat down.

Pit did most of the talking as they ate, though they both did more eating than talking. As his belly filled up Marth gradually began to feel more positive about the whole attempt. He'd done a good thing. Pit, certainly, was looking very pleased. Perhaps too pleased. Marth hadn't meant the dinner as an encouragement – but he'd _wanted_ Pit to be pleased… He brushed the thoughts away and gave Pit a smile.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes." Pit sighed happily.

"I'll get the pasta then." Marth took their dishes away and went back into the kitchen. As he poured out the pasta he watched Pit out of the corner of his eye. Pit didn't even so much as fidget. Watching him Marth felt something of a sad laugh beginning in him and he wasn't even sure why. He finished plating up the pasta and brought it back over to the table.

"The main is served," he announced with a smile.

"Yay!" Pit cheered lightly.

Once more Marth sat down and they resumed eating. Perhaps this was alright after all. He was rather pleased with his cooking – at least he didn't have to berate himself for not being as good as Pit in that respect.

"So you see," Marth said as they finished, "You didn't have to bring the casserole."

Pit smiled. "I know – but it was a gift!"

Marth struggled inwardly for a moment. "But…you don't have to."

Pit shrugged, still smiling. "It's a gift!" he repeated.

"But I don't need it."

Pit laughed. "You don't have to _need_ gifts!"

"I know…" Marth tried a different tack. "I'll get fat on all this food you bring me."

"You're not fat," Pit rushed reassuringly.

"I could _get _fat…" Marth pushed.

Pit paused thoughtfully. "If you like I can bring salad instead, that's got less fat. Do you like salad?"

"You don't have to make salad, I can make that."

"I know. But I like making things for you." Pit smiled.

Marth didn't know what to say.

Later, when all the dishes had been washed, they sat on the sofa drinking tea. Topics had changed and changed again as they were prone to do, and now Pit was describing his ideal beach. Marth wasn't really paying attention – it had something to do with soft sand and gentle waves, a generally romantic image. He sat quietly until Pit said,

"I wouldn't want to go alone, though. But if I did, I'd bring you back a load of coconuts and souvenirs or –"

"Have you always done this?" he interrupted.

Pit looked at him, confused. "Done what?"

"Buy people things." He didn't want to get back to this argument, and yet he felt compelled to. It bothered him, and this seemed a new track to try.

"What do you mean?" Pit queried.

"Do you buy lots of presents for your friends and family, too?"

"No…I don't understand…sometimes – on birthdays and Christmases…"

"Pit…" Marth bit his lip nervously. How could he scold someone for buying him presents? "Did you have a boyfriend before me that you bought a lot of things for?"

"I…" Pit hesitated. "I had a boyfriend before you… but I didn't buy him so much stuff."

"Why not?"

Pit shrugged.

_That's not helpful._ Marth asked the next question gently, in case he was treading on sensitive ground. "Can I ask…why you split?"

There was a long pause. Marth felt progressively guiltier for having asked the question, and wondered if he should take it back. But he had to know if they had split because of something silly like Pit getting his boyfriend some sort of massive present and freaking him out…

Pit was looking down at his hands. Most splits were simple enough… misunderstandings, youthful mismatches… But Pit still hadn't replied and Marth wondered if it was more serious. He couldn't do this. He opened his mouth to take the question back, but just as he breathed in Pit looked up at him, his eyes welling with tears.

"I didn't love him enough," he whispered.

_Oh heck._ Hadn't loved him _enough_? Had his old boyfriend dumped him not because he gave him too much, but because he gave him too little? Had his old boyfriend been a golddigger?

"Pit…" Marth took Pit's hands, feeling his heart break as he watched Pit's bottom lip tremble. "Pit, I'm sure you did. Giving people presents isn't the only way to show your love for someone. And you don't need to give me presents. I know that you love me. You understand?" That would explain why Pit brought him so much stuff…it was why his old boyfriend left him…

Pit was crying, and didn't reply. Marth hugged him close, feeling terrible.

"You don't need to buy me things, okay?"

Pit nodded against his shirt. Marth stroked his hair comfortingly.

"On S-Saturday," Pit sniffed. "Tha-at g-guy I made us walk aw-way from…That was him."

"I'm sorry I pried."

"No, it's okay…" Pit wiped his eyes. "Sorry for being sad," he apologised abruptly. "We can have the casserole tomorrow, and I'll make a nice dessert or get film tickets or something – yes? And we'll be happy! And then we still have 'Legally Blonde' to look forward to – remember?"

_Sorry_? For being _sad_?

"I'd better blow my nose, I must look horrible! I'll call you! We'll see a film tomorrow – yes?"

This was…impossible. But what could he say? "Yes."

"I love you!"

Marth swallowed. "I love you too."

"I love you more!" Pit blew him a kiss. "See you tomorrow!" And just like that, he was gone. Positively beaming. Marth watched him go, totally confused. Had anything he'd said gone through at all? But how could he try to persuade Pit again, knowing that…

He stood up slowly and headed upstairs to his bedroom. Everything was silent and he lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt restless, his mind drifting from Pit to Ike and then back again. After a moment he stood from the bed and walked over to his chest of drawers, opening the top drawer slowly.

It was still there, of course. The silver photo frame, mocking him. He lifted it out. It was cold to the touch. He thought of all the pictures he'd looked through and found himself wondering if Pit had a stack of pictures somewhere in _his_ house, and if they looked the same. Did he have a framed one of Marth? Marth had been around to Pit's house, but not for a while…he didn't _remember_ there being one there. He sighed, and shifted the frame from one hand to the other. If the frame _wasn't_ from Ike, he wondered, would he have put a picture in it then? If he had just found the frame in the attic or something…

With a sigh he sat back down on the bed, staring at it. Pit was quite photogenic; it wasn't like it would make a bad picture if he put one of him in there. But he just couldn't. The idea just seemed…excessive. He really ought to throw the frame away. The thing was, whether or not the frame contained a picture of Pit or him or was simply empty…it would always be a picture of Ike.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **Thanks to thescaryone, empty-eyed dreamer, October0raven, WayRoundWrong, marth and ike foevah 3, Flying Pencil, Alia Sukai and WhimsicalShmoo for reviewing since the last chapter!

It's been a while since I last updated and I must apologise, my last exam was 07/06/2011 and I've only recently got around to writing again. Thank you for waiting - whether you realised why or not! I love all reviews :) I will try and keep up the update consistency as best I can, and leave warnings around and about when I _know_ I won't be able to update. In the meantime - enjoy!

* * *

This must be stage 5, Marth thought to himself. He was only just resisting the urge to pace as he sat tensely at his desk, absently fiddling with stationery and consistently failing to focus on his work. When had this happened to him? He wondered if this was something to do with Pit or if it was something else entirely. Oh, this was hopeless! _Relax, Marth, for goodness' sake._ He managed to type one more sentence and then once more slumped back in his chair, feeling the hopelessness of his endeavour.

Stage 1: Apprehension. Stage 2: Attraction. Stage 3: Embarrassment. Stage 4: Mild Acceptance.

And now, apparently, nervousness.

Not that it was as simple as that. All of those things were muddled together in a confusing mix inside his mind – he'd tried to separate each clinically but in reality it was all just a giddy jumble. Whenever he looked at the window he couldn't think of any single word that would encapsulate what he felt. Oh dear… He really needed some fresh air. But that would mean opening the window… His heart rate, which he'd only just commanded to slow, instantly speeded up again. This was awful. This state of affairs had been building for just over three and a half hours now. Why hadn't Ike turned up? Argh! No – he didn't want him to turn up! But he had to _know_ if Ike wasn't going to turn up again – this not-knowing was the problem.

"Stupid! Marth, _why?_" he finally moaned to himself, exasperated.

The answer and the cause of the question arrived simultaneously with a low whirring noise.

And, without ever remembering when he'd left his chair, Marth was standing. He stared fixedly at the window, unable to move or look away, and completely unable to think of what he was going to do next. For a long moment staring was all he did. Then, fearful of giving the moment too much significance, he went over to the window and opened it. Outside Ike simply stood as if waiting, smiling at him.

"Hi," Marth said eventually.

"Hi."

They gazed at each other in silence a little while longer. Marth waited for Ike to say something, to take the lead. Then it occurred to him that ever since he'd met Ike _he_ had been the one who _should_ have taken the lead – especially in the beginning when he was asking Ike to go away. And yet somehow he'd always ended up deferring to Ike's choices – why?

"Would you like to come out? There's good weather today," Ike prompted with unusual grace. He extended a hand towards Marth.

Was it a confidence thing? Was that why? Was he just too shy to say 'no'?

"Marth." It was the first time Ike had used his name. Marth felt a jolt pass through him.

"No," he said rebelliously.

"Alright, I'll come in then," Ike declared teasingly, leaning towards the window.

"No!" Marth protested hurriedly, a little too high-pitched. As Ike leant towards him Marth instinctively put his hands on Ike's chest and attempted to push him back. But Ike didn't budge at all and Marth ended up doing a sort of vertical push-up instead. Of his own accord, however, Ike stopped where he was, sitting on the very edge of the window cleaning box and leaning in precariously towards the window. Marth quickly dropped his hands.

Ike grinned at him. "You could have just stepped back."

It took Marth a moment to realise what he was implying. "You…You…"

"Me," Ike mirrored playfully, his low voice seductive. He looked at Marth's hands. "There's no need to fidget, you know. I don't mind if you put your hands back where they were."

"Of course you wouldn't mind," Marth snapped nervously before he could stop himself.

"Then what's stopping you?" Ike winked.

"You…I…_I was pushing you back_!" Marth protested.

To this Ike only raised his eyebrows. Marth became as close to irritated as his nervousness would allow. "I was!"

Ike looked around slowly and deliberately, as if seeking a second opinion. "Did you hear me denying it?"

Definitely closer to irritated now. Marth fumbled uselessly for a witty riposte. He scowled. "Stop it!" he spluttered.

Ike's grin was relentless. "Oooh, passion. _This I like._"

This was more than Marth could bear. "Can't you be serious? Even for a moment?" he criticised.

To this Ike raised one eyebrow slightly, and then slowly let his expression change – the mischievous look left his eyes, and his lips lost their teasing upward tilt – until the expression he fixed Marth with was one of utter, compelling seriousness. The unexpected gravity of it shocked Marth completely.

"See? I can be serious," Ike replied deadpan, his eyes never leaving Marth's. Marth didn't look away either – he couldn't. Ike had taken all his oxygen. And his stomach, if feeling was anything to go by. Then Ike grinned again, and all the air rushed out of him at once. He pointed a finger at Ike helplessly.

"You…"

Ike grasped the hand bearing the accusing finger and pulled Marth firmly forwards into the window cleaning box. "Yes?" he teased.

Marth fell silent, not knowing what to say. Ike smiled, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, holding it out to Marth face down.

"For you." Ike grinned. "A photo for your photo frame."

_Oh heck._ Marth could only guess what the photo might contain. Blushing, he stepped back and shook his head. "No thanks," he rushed.

"Are you _sure_?" Ike raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"I really don't…no…no." Marth waved his hands as if swatting away a fly. "I have a boyfriend," he protested.

Ike's grin only widened as he flipped his wrist over, revealing the photo.

Marth tried to look away as quickly as possible, but the brief glimpse he inevitably caught confused him. Eh? What was that? He looked back.

"Oh god…" He clapped his hands over his cheeks, the surprise on his face embarrassingly evident.

"I took it the other day," Ike commented. "I thought you might like a copy."

It was a scenic shot taken from the top of the building, looking out across the city skyline.

"You can take a bit of the outside in with you," Ike continued. "It'll save you looking out the window so much," he added with a wink.

_Save you looking out the window so much…_Did Ike know how Marth had apprehensively checked the window so many times each day ever since they had first met, wondering if he would see him again? Marth blushed. How could Ike know that? Was it so obvious? No, wait – what was so obvious?

"Sorry, have I disappointed you?" Ike asked relentlessly. "Do you think that it looks out towards the horizon too much? Perhaps you'd rather I pointed the camera _lower down._"

"No!… No! You…_know…_it's 'no'!" Marth blustered.

"You don't like the picture? Well I suppose some things are better experienced in reality than they are viewed in photos…" Ike moved closer.

"No! I mean…I…_that_ picture is…that's fine, but I thought…"

"I like that picture too," Ike murmured seductively, tapping the side of Marth's head with his index finger as he leant in even closer.

"I didn't mean… I don't want…" Marth trailed off. He could feel the air between them warming, waiting. The tension patient, potent.

"Hmm? Oh, that's alright then." Ike drew back easily, his tone casual in a way that could only arise from his own unnerving confidence in the situation. Marth watched him, unsettled.

"How about sharing a tea break with me? I even brought marshmallows," Ike suggested suddenly, shifting over to where he his backpack sat in the corner. He drew out a thermal flask and a bag of marshmallows which he presented to Marth triumphantly.

"Coffee first?" Rummaging around he drew out a mug from his bag, filled it from the flask and then passed it to Marth. "It might be a bit strong, hope you don't mind."

Marth stared at the mug in his hands, wondering how the mood had changed so suddenly, and struggling to keep up. He took a sip of the coffee. It was strong. In an attempt to be more manly he pretended not to notice.

"I'll take the photo," he said quietly, hoping to stop Ike from bringing it up again later – and its associated embarrassment. But surely after the way that Ike behaved it hadn't been a great assumption to believe that the photo might have been of him?

Ike smiled and passed him the photo without comment, pouring out his own coffee. He finished this in a quick series of gulps and, putting his cup aside, opened the bag of marshmallows.

"You want one?"

"Er…" There was probably a suggestive catch. Marth hesitated. Ike grinned as if reading his mind and then picked one out and threw it at him. Marth caught it and ate it silently. He was secretly grateful – it helped to take away some of the taste of the coffee. He was still trying to recover from the fact Ike had been so suggestive, so close…and now they were sharing coffee and marshmallows. It was such a sudden transition – it didn't make any sense.

"So, do you have much fun in that office of yours?" Ike squeezed a marshmallow between the tips of his fingers as he spoke. Gently, suggestively. _Squidge squidge._

Marth didn't know how to answer. If he said no, then Ike could use that as an excuse for Marth to spend more time with him. But the way Ike was squeezing that marshmallow…what did he mean by 'fun'?

"It's…okay," he tried.

"Do you sit at your desk most of the time? Or do you get to travel?"

What – he wasn't making an innuendo? "Just…sit at my desk, mostly," Marth answered.

"That's a shame. Still, I guess you stay out of the rain."

Was this a normal conversation? Mind you, Ike was still squidging that marshmallow in a distractingly suggestive fashion.

"Yes, I suppose."

_Squidge squidge._ "You like it, then? Your job?"

"Well, it's…" _Squidge squidge._ So distracting… "Fairly monotonous."

"I don't suppose you'd prefer cleaning windows?" Ike grinned.

An actual question? A _neutral_ tease? His words were normal but his expression was still full of suggestive playfulness…and that marshmallow…

"No…That is, no offence…" He didn't know what he was saying. What was the right answer? Why was Ike being like this? This was so…tense.

_Squidge squidge._ "None taken."

Marth shifted nervously on the spot. "Thanks, um…for the coffee."

_Squidge squidge._ "You haven't finished it yet."

"It's…a bit strong," Marth confessed. Why was Ike squeezing that marshmallow? Did he realise how suggestive that looked?

"Never mind." _Squidge squidge._

"I…" Marth began.

_Squidge squidge._

Marth frowned. "Could you stop…"

_Squidge squidge._ It almost felt like Ike was squeezing some part of _him_, and every time he did it the butterflies in Marth's stomach got more and more frantic. His blood flushed hotly; he couldn't concentrate.

_Squidge squidge._

"Stop squeezing that thing!" Marth spluttered.

"Oh." Ike turned his head in an exaggerated manner to look at his hand, as if he'd only just become aware of doing it. Then he grinned. "Would you rather I squeezed something else instead?" he proposed suggestively.

"No! You…You did it deliberately, didn't you? The whole time – just so you could say that line!"

Ike raised an eyebrow. "Please, credit me with some spontaneity." He moved in closer to Marth and lowered his voice. "It would be a pity if I couldn't be spontaneous, wouldn't it?"

Marth's heart was beating frantically. "Stop…"

"I had a feeling you weren't interested in the conversation…" Ike moved even closer, still smiling.

"I'm…" Marth fumbled useless for words.

"Say what you mean," Ike whispered. Now there were only a few inches between them, at most. Marth tried, uselessly, not to think what he was thinking.

"Why can't you take my word for it when I say I want you to leave?" he pleaded.

"Oh I can take it," Ike replied, sounding as if he were answering another question altogether. He leant forward and whispered in Marth's ear, "Can you?" His steady gaze sent a hot shiver through the very core of Marth's being.

And then, finally, Ike closed the gap with a kiss.

The gentle intensity of it shocked Marth completely. He didn't possess enough willpower to move, and somehow the kiss deepened, taking him in and drawing their bodies closer until they were in a full embrace. It was a kiss Marth had never had from Pit – dominating, confident. Ike's passion blurred and melded with his, desirous and heady, intoxicating. Barely knowing what he did Marth pulled himself closer, renewing the kiss with each breath. It was as if his mind had forgotten how to stop…didn't want to stop…

Ike moved Marth back against the window, his hands moving commandingly over Marth's waist and lower back as he pressed himself even closer against Marth's chest and thighs. Marth gasped, clutching at Ike's top as the friction of denim on denim taunted him. Impatience burned in his thighs, on his lips and tongue.

There was a pause and then Ike's mouth had gone from his, moving instead across his cheek and neck with heavy breaths and then back up to his ear, Ike's tongue finding that sensitive spot behind Marth's earlobe. A small moan escaped Marth involuntarily. _This really…must stop…_ he thought brokenly, looking out across the city's skyscrapers and the roads beyond, and wondering if anyone else out there could hear his body's screaming. He took another shaky breath. _This really…should stop…_These muscles – how did they release? How did they unclutch? He wondered if anyone out there could see them, and felt embarrassed. _This really…ought to stop…_ Ike kissed him again and other wave of desire rolled through him like a hot marble. Somewhere out there, he thought absently, was Pit.

The word hit him suddenly, like a handful of cold gravel. Oh god.

This had to stop.

Panicking slightly, Marth pulled away from Ike's embrace, breathing heavily. He looked up into those intense blue eyes for a moment and worried that he was going to face some sort of repercussion. But Ike let his arms drop easily and gave a small, incomprehensible smile.

"I can't," Marth whispered, his voice humiliatingly hoarse.

Ike casually readjusted the grey tank top he was wearing and took a small step back, then looked at Marth, waiting. Marth didn't know what to say. He felt half inclined to apologise, but it wasn't Ike that deserved an apology. And he was too distressed to mouth the words, anyhow. So instead he simply turned back towards the window and quickly climbed back through into his office. Somehow his fear of heights wasn't as important now.

Once inside he noticed something that he'd forgotten until now – Ike's orange puffer jacket, sitting on the floor beside his desk. He made a short run towards it and grabbed it before turning back to Ike.

"Your jacket…I'm sorry…I forgot to give it back before." He held it out of the window for Ike to take.

Ike grinned as if to make a suggestive comment, but then said simply, "That's okay." He took the jacket from Marth and dropped it down inside the window cleaning box. "Here." He tossed Marth the bag of marshmallows. "Something for you to enjoy later." And then he pressed a button and the window cleaning box rose out of sight.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: **Sorry for the slow update. Life has been busy. Another warning in advance: **Will be going away on the 25/07/2011 and if I am unable to write again before I leave or whilst there I will not be back until the end of August... **I will try, however!

So a massive thank you to all the readers and the reviewers: WhimsicalShmoo, Lovell Luka, MustangLover4ever, RedHotMuse12, motolokiev, UchihaChihiro, thought hemorrhage., Flying Pencil and Alia Sukai for reviewing since the last chapter! You all inspire me to go on, as well as any readers from deviantart who are seeing this - thank you.

* * *

As soon as he got home Marth threw the packet of marshmallows on the sofa and went upstairs for a shower. He tried to put Ike out of his mind, but the effort only served to engrain the memory more firmly into his consciousness. The hot water pounded down against his shoulders, drowning out the world beyond, but none of its normally calming effect managed to penetrate to the nerves beneath, which continued to fire with every renewal of the memory. What had he done?

Pwooshh. Drip, drip. Chk, thunk. Towel. Still the image of Ike burnt itself into his mind, as if every blink was drawing him back there.

_Oh I can take it…Can you? _Ike's voice echoed in his head as clearly as if he had been standing there. The mere imagination of it made Marth self-conscious and he quickly reached for his clothes and got dressed, blushing. Then he hurried downstairs and put the kettle on. He had to think of something else.

_Perhaps you'd rather I pointed the camera_ _**lower down**_. Marth buried his head in his hands. Waiting for the kettle to boil was too long – he needed to do something. He wandered through from room to room, looking for something – what, he didn't know. Something to distract him. Lounge, hallway, back to the kitchen. Had the kettle boiled? No. Forget it, he'd have it cold. His hand shook a little as he poured out the warm water. The teaspoon rattled loudly as he stirred. Why couldn't his mind let it drop?

Sip.

_Squidge squidge._

Sip.

_Squidge squidge._

"No!" He had to think of something else. He would count the number of handles on the kitchen cabinets – no, not enough of them – he would count the cutlery in the cutlery drawer – no! What was he thinking? Was he going mad? _Marth, stop it. Just stop._ He finished his tea as best he could; swallowing deliberately, his stomach tense and protesting. Slowly he calmed himself by degrees. There. He was fine.

And then the doorbell rang.

His stomach turned so violently that for a moment he feared he was about to throw up. Irritated at this irrational reaction he walked firmly over to the door and opened it.

"Hi!" Pit beamed at him. "Ready?"

Marth stared at him blankly for all of a second. Then his mind finally offered up the information – he was meant to be going to the cinema with Pit tonight.

"Oh…" He glanced around him. "Um…yes, I… One moment."

"You bought marshmallows!" Pit exclaimed gleefully, his eye lighting on the sofa.

Marth whirled around, filled with a sudden impulse to hide it. It stared humourlessly back at him. "Er…yes."

"Cool. I have popcorn too."

"Right. Um…shall we go then?" He looked around him, lost.

"Yep. I've got tickets for 'Bridesmaids' – that okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

Pit tilted his head on one side. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." In his mind he wanted to elaborate, be more reassuring. But the single word stuck in the air, alone.

"Let's go then!" Pit smiled enthusiastically. He reached for the marshmallows on the sofa, which Marth was about to leave behind. Marth watched blankly as he reached for them, half-wanting to prevent him. But instead he simply let him, and then followed out the front door. There was no time to think – he was just going to have to roll with it.

They arrived at the cinema in plenty of time and took their seats near the back. Pit opened the popcorn and began to munch happily. Marth shifted awkwardly in his chair and attempted to clear his mind. He wasn't sure what the film was about, but gathering from Pit's general taste in such things, and the title, it was probably some sort of humorous romance.

The trailers seemed to pass even slower than usual, but at length the film began and they both – meaning Pit – fell into silence. Marth watched with almost obsessive attentiveness, but the film didn't provide enough action for such a vigorous occupation and his mind drifted unwillingly, inevitably, back towards the topic he least wanted to think about. The film wore on. Pit shifted beside him, leaning over to rest his head on Marth's shoulder. Slowly the film began to engage Marth a little more, but with each twenty minutes his mind flicked back to _that_, as if attached to the thought by some sort of mental elastic. And then he would have to begin the process of trying to forget all over again. Pit laughed at something Marth wasn't paying attention to. The film began to bear towards the midway point. Someone from further inside the row stood up to go to the toilet.

"Aw, I love these romances," Pit whispered to him at one point. Marth didn't say anything. His thoughts had drifted far away – what was he going to do now? Had it been a mistake? Should he tell Pit? _Could_ he tell Pit? The natural inclination of self-preservation in him wanted to keep it secret – he knew it would hurt Pit to hear. No, he wouldn't say anything.

Just then, the man who had gone to the toilet earlier came back. Marth, too occupied in his own thoughts, didn't notice him and remained sitting where he was, staring blankly at the screen. Pit nudged him and pointed.

"Oh, sorry." Marth stood without thinking, and the bag of marshmallows fell off his lap, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Marshmallows!" Marth hissed automatically. But as soon as the word had left his lips the memory chased at its heels: _Squidge squidge. _"_Marshmallows!..._Argh!..." He raised a palm and hit himself in the forehead. _No, no!_ "Marshmallows!…_Shit._" He gave up as his normal expletive failed to provide him with any relief. But as a deathly silence surrounded him he realised he had inadvertently overstepped his usual boundary. Embarrassed, he made his way quickly out into the isle and then out of the screen, unable to bear it any longer.

Deep breaths. Oh heck. The heavy door swung shut silently behind him. What had he walked out for? It had just felt so claustrophobic…

"Shit…" He wandered out a little way, not knowing what to do with himself. There was a cleaner a little way away who looked up at him with a curious expression, but no one else, thankfully.

The door opened behind him. "Marth?"

There was no denying that voice, no 'delay' button to press so he could prepare himself. Marth turned around slowly. "Hmm?" he managed.

Pit frowned a little, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Uh…yes." He ran one hand through his hair nervously.

"Are you sure? Do want me to get you something? Do you feel ill? Dizzy? I can get you some water!"

"No, you don't have to, I'm…fine."

Pit watched him, concerned.

"I'm fine. Just…go back in," Marth mumbled, flustered.

"Marth…?"

"Go back in." His voice came out harsher, more instructive than he wanted. What was wrong with him? "Just…I'll follow you…I just needed some air," he tried again, gentler.

"Are you sure? Are you ill?"

"I'm fine," Marth repeated, forcing a smile onto his face although he felt its fakeness in his very core.

"Okay," Pit consented quietly, and turned reluctantly to head back into the screen. And in what felt like the greatest anti-climax of his life, Marth followed him.

There were moments where Marth wondered if the film would ever end. If it had been hard to watch it before it was nigh impossible now, and he glanced repeatedly around the cinema with a sort of helplessness, feeling trapped. Pit had snuggled even closer to him, hugging his arm closely and repeatedly looking up at him with big, searching eyes. What excuse could Marth give him? To say that he was feeling ill would be the easiest solution. Oddly enough he _was_ feeling a little ill – his heart pounded and refused to rest. Ike… Ike… Somehow he felt if only he could confront Ike the feeling would go away, but this waiting was agonising. What was he even waiting for? He wanted to lean forward, to take deep breaths, to go for a walk. But all he could do was sit still or else he would give himself away. Painful minutes crawled by. Twice he nearly stood and left again and each time the adrenalin surged and his heart rate soared, but he couldn't muster the courage to do it. He sat and waited, and the darkness seemed both hot and cold around him, close and claustrophobic. If only he could feel fresh air on his face, that surely would make it better…if he could just be outdoors, somewhere windy like outside his office in the window cleaning box – oh god… Oh god…

When the credits rolled he couldn't get out soon enough. Forcibly he controlled himself to walk slowly, to wait for Pit. They finally made it out of the cinema and into the cool air of the evening.

"You want to get something to eat?" Pit suggested.

Marth just wanted to go home as soon as possible. He didn't want to appear impolite though, so for a few seconds he simply stood where he was, struggling. "I…" He felt his pulse accelerate and took a deep breath. "I feel ill," he finally managed.

"Are you going to be sick?" Pit worried.

"No…I don't think so. I think I'll just…go home."

"I'll escort you –"

"No, no, it's fine." He sensed being with Pit was only making him feel worse, and the guilt for this suspicion only made him feel worse still. _Please,_ he willed Pit telepathically, _please just let me go home. _

"Well…if you're sure –"

"Yes. Goodnight then," Marth rushed awkwardly, feeling eager to leave but equally guilty for his eagerness.

Pit rubbed his hands together nervously. "Take care of yourself – I'll come and see you tomorrow and bring –"

"No. Stop it, no." Marth spoke without thinking, too desperate to end the conversation, and as soon as the words left his mouth he felt a horrible jarring sensation in his stomach, something like horror at his own slip. The words seemed to cut through the air, too loud and too blunt. "I mean…I…" he bumbled uselessly, "please…I'll see you soon. I'm…I'm…" _The word wouldn't come – it wouldn't come!_ The cruel honesty of his first words haunted him. Oh god, no, this wasn't how it was meant to go…not now…

"It's okay," Pit answered quietly, too quietly. Marth could only look back at him hopelessly, dreading something he didn't understand. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't think how to say goodbye.

"I love you," Pit whispered, and reached out briefly to brush his hand against Marth's.

"Yeah," Marth mumbled, and could have slapped himself. He sounded like such a fool! Pit half-turned away, though his eyes never left Marth's, and a moment later with a self-conscious shuffle Marth did the same, and in this awkward, hanging way they parted, walking off slowly in their separate directions.

He was nervous even as he shut the front door behind him. He was home at last, but the stillness of the place seemed to lean in oppressively. With a drawn out sigh he collapsed on the sofa and fretted. What did Pit think of him? And every time he began to plan ways to fix it, that horrible question reared his head – why? He tried to ignore it – all of it. Pit was fine, he just thought Marth was ill… _Push it back, push it back, just don't think of it…_All the conflicting thoughts cancelled each other out and blurred into each other, churning in his head over and over until the thoughts wouldn't come straight anymore and he was simply left with one roll of emotion after another. Fear, confusion, tiredness…

It was too early to go to bed yet but Marth felt worn out. Sleep seemed to promise a welcome relief and he trudged upstairs and changed into his pyjamas. As he dumped his clothes carelessly on the chair something fell out of one of the pockets. The photo of the skyline from the window cleaning box. Marth stared at it, and then decided to lie down on his bed and leave it. It was too much to think about right now. And yet even as his weariness began to claim him for sleep the photo was the last image in his mind, accompanying him into unconsciousness.

He slept tumultuously, uncomfortably, not knowing how the time passed. At one point he woke – the clock read a little past midnight – and then he slept again, tossing and turning as a fresh dream took hold of him.

Once more he was inside the window cleaning box, but this time Ike was in there too, looking down at him with a smile. Less than a metre separated them. Marth wanted to reach out and touch him. Mildly nervous but with a completely natural movement he stepped forward and began to reach towards Ike. Ike didn't move but his posture remained open, his expression patient, waiting. Then as Marth drew within inches of him suddenly the air changed. It became hot, the air particles charged and resistant. Panic suddenly seized him. He was within an inch of Ike but he couldn't touch him, as if some invisible glass barrier lay between them. He struggled uselessly like a fly caught in a web, unable to progress. After a while he began to fight it, grabbing at something – but the something was nothing, it slipped and gave way all around him and yet he could get no further. Hot and frustrated he continued to try but there was no time, no time… The image faded, then wrenched itself away with a twist, as if being sucked down a plughole.

Marth woke suddenly, his skin clammy and hot, and found the duvet kneaded between his thighs. It took several moments for his breathing to regulate, for full consciousness to fully claim him. He sat up slowly and put his head in his hands.

"Shit…"


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** Thank you to MM-YaoiQueenz, WayRoundWrong, ADashOfInsanity, Flying Pencil, thought hemorrhage., WhimsicalShmoo and MustangLover4ever (deviantart) for reviewing since the last chapter! I know...it's been ages... *guilt* This is a shorter chapter, but I reckon I'll be making up for it later.

* * *

It was like really wanting a film to end so that you could know what happened – and then being given the end straight out before you reached it, leaving you with nothing but confusion and stress as to how it was supposed to get there, and if it was worth watching anymore.

In short, Ike hadn't turned up.

Part of him was angry, he knew that much. Everything he had tried to plan for, to tell Ike to go away so spectacularly that the super-confident flirt became solemn and respectful under his glare…and Ike wasn't here. It was the goal he was aiming for, but it had deprived him of the confrontation. And now he couldn't stop wondering whether Ike would be coming back, whilst he really ought to be enjoying the peace of his absence. He was relieved and confused and… he didn't even know anymore.

He swivelled around a little in his chair, biting the end of his pen. There had been no contact from Pit since the previous evening, and he didn't know what to make of that either. It certainly didn't make him feel any better. The one he wanted to blame for the disruption wasn't here, and he could feel the guilt settling progressively over himself instead like an itchy blanket.

More work. Force the time to pass.

It wasn't like he'd been stood up or anything.

Why was the time passing so slowly?

Trying to focus on the email he was meant to be composing was close to impossible. The conversation he'd had at lunch hadn't helped. He'd been walking down the corridor to get himself a drink from the vending machine when a he'd caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Their eyes met just as he'd been about to take his drink and he found himself slow to look away, unspoken questions burning on his lips.

"Yes?" the other man accused. Marth almost turned and walked away right then. But he forced himself to be brave.

"You're Soren, right?" he ventured timidly. "I saw you the other day, as I was…"

"Passing by in the window cleaning box with Ike, I know," Soren finished for him emotionlessly. Marth swallowed, something about the way the man was looking at him and the quality of the silence telling him that he knew, or suspected, his 'relationship' with Ike. There was no point trying to make small talk.

"Are you, er…" Marth hesitated. "What is it like to be friends with him?" he rushed at last.

Soren gave him a cryptic look, far less friendly now that Ike wasn't there with them. "You'll never know," he said softly.

A sudden fury rose inside Marth, and something akin to a panic. "How can you say that?"

"He'll _know_ if you fancy him, Marth. Don't think you can hide it," Soren warned. And then without another word he was gone, leaving Marth fuming and disconcerted.

_Come on Marth, this email isn't going to write itself._ What did Soren mean though – 'You'll never know'? How dare he be so presumptuous! He _could_ know, eas – no! No! He never wanted to see Ike again! He leant forwards over the desk and buried his head in his hands.

Work ended at length and Marth headed home, a nervous feeling in his stomach. He opened the front door and closed it softly behind him. Silence. He cast about for any signs of Pit, but there were no notes…anywhere. Well that was unusual. A guilty feeling twisted in his stomach. He checked the phone. There was one message.

"Hey Marth, it's Pit. Hope you've had a great day. Have a nice evening – I'll see you on Saturday for 'Legally Blonde' – don't forget!"

There was a dull tone and no further messages. Marth wondered what it meant – was he not going to hear from Pit until Saturday then? With mixed feelings he sat on the sofa, wondering what to do now. Normally he'd feel obliged to get changed and ready for Pit to come around later and then they would pass the rest of the evening together, but now the time opened up in front of him like a crevasse. He turned on the radio but it didn't help. Restless, he stood and grabbed his coat, heading out to go to the supermarket.

The hubbub here was easier to deal with than the silence at home. He browsed through the shelves, glad of the distraction – half-fearing, half-hoping that he would bump into someone he knew. He turned down into the shampoo isle. Normally he would pick one of the softer, more feminine products, but as he reached for his usual brand Soren's voice rang in his head: _You'll never know._ What had he been implying? Did he see Marth as too feminine for a guy like Ike? He turned, subconsciously reaching for one of the stereotypically male products instead. The coarse branding was unappealing, but he opened the top a little and had a sniff out of curiosity. It was a familiar smell. A blurred image came into his mind – smooth skin, soft cotton, a musky closeness… Too late, his mind put it together. _Oh god…he knew what Ike _smelt _like… _He turned and walked quickly out of the isle, no longer caring for any shopping at all. Out of a sense of obligation he bought a few basic items and then hurried home.

Once more alone at home Marth made himself a cup of tea and paced aimlessly around the lounge and kitchen, wishing the time past. He wondered what Pit was doing at that moment. He wondered what _Ike _was doing at that moment. Perhaps they would be alone and bored right now, as he was, but he doubted it. Before Pit he had had plenty of friends, their names now a dull list in his address book. Pit had easily monopolised his time from the moment they had met – Marth hadn't minded, then, but now he noticed that none of his other friends texted him, or called him as they used to. He'd faded out of their lives just as Pit had blazed into his.

They had met in a bar one evening, one of the few evenings that Marth had ever been to a bar. He wasn't one for drinking, but at that time it had only been a month since he had split from his previous boyfriend Link, and he was feeling low. He didn't really know what he had been looking for, only knew that he felt rejected and unattractive. He had just wanted to feel _wanted_ again, perhaps – if he could admit it to himself – even if it just meant a fumble in the dark, hushed and hot and meaningless. The last thing he had expected was to meet Pit, who was all light and positivity and bubbling enthusiasm and just kept _complimenting_ him, as if he'd just spotted a jewel on the beach and couldn't take his eyes off it. And Pit hadn't stopped. He'd offered to take Marth home but they hadn't _done_ anything, just sat and chatted and drunk tea. He couldn't tell if Pit was naïve or just over-optimistic about life in general but it made him feel _good_ to be around Pit, in a warm fuzzy way he hadn't had for a while. They had met again, and then again. Pit had been so attentive to him, so loving, a never ending flow of support that needed no prompting or return. Being with Pit made Marth feel positively _buoyant._ Pit had been so unexpected, so unusual, like a bright piece of candy that would never stop being sweet. Marth had loved it…until he got toothache. Now he wondered _why_ Pit always managed to be so upbeat, _why_ his attentions hadn't lessened over time. Marth couldn't even understand his own opinion – surely those were things he should celebrate? When other boyfriends might gradually have become less attentive and begun to take him for granted, Pit never would. He should be _glad._

But he wasn't, that was the truth of it. Marth slumped back across the sofa, pondering this. The cushions compressed softly beneath him. Soft, but not solid. They couldn't embrace him. They had no strength, no words. In short, the sofa did nothing for his sudden sense of loneliness. He hugged himself, half wondering if he should –

What was he thinking?

His mind obviously had no sense of appropriate timing. Sitting up properly he put his head in his hands. He needed to confront Ike before it drove him insane. If he could just confront him perhaps some of this stupid tension would leave him alone, and he could try and repair his relationship with Pit.

He got up from the sofa and headed into the kitchen to make himself another cup of tea. Mug in hand he was halfway back to the sofa again when his foot caught on something invisible in the carpet. He tripped, landing awkwardly, the hot liquid spilling all over the top of his left thigh.

"Shit!"

He swatted himself uselessly as he felt the heat seep in through his jeans, quickly increasing to a painful scalding sensation. He struggled with his jeans, quickly unzipping them and sliding them off, his skin twitching in pain.

"Shit…"

There was already a large patch of red skin on his thigh and it stung painfully. He began to rub it with his hands, trying to dissipate some of the searing heat. His hands chafed against the sensitive skin, making his nerve endings twitch. For a few more seconds he continued to wipe the hot sensation frantically away from his skin as it cooled with a stinging sensation, alarmed by how high the heat had managed to spread. He continued to rub his hands over the skin, trying to smooth over the hot-now-cold sensation that made his skin feel exposed and vulnerable.

And why, _why_, did he have to think of Ike right now?


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** I guess I thought I'd shock you all by, you know, updating. Sorry for the wait… *slinks away*

Thanks to Lovell Luka, MM-YaoiQueenz, thought hemorrhage, WayRoundWrong, Alia Sukai and ADashOfInsanity for reviewing the last chapter. Thank you to all those still reading.

**Warning: Reminder: M Rated**

* * *

Marth crossed his legs, uncrossed, then crossed them again. What was wrong with him today? Everything felt awkward. He couldn't even _sit_ properly. With one finger he poked his thigh experimentally, testing to see if it was still sensitive from where he'd scalded it with hot tea yesterday evening. It wasn't. _That_ wasn't the problem then. He sighed and glanced at the clock, his fingers moving restlessly over the keyboard in front of him. 10:10am. His eyes kept being drawn to the phone, slowly, every few minutes. Pit still hadn't made any contact with him since the message on his answerphone yesterday. It wasn't like him; it was unnerving. The thought almost made Marth laugh – hadn't he thought that Pit called him _too_ much? He half reached towards the phone, wondering if he should call Pit and apologise for snapping at him in the cinema. Pit was always the one to call first, now it should be Marth's turn. He reached out hesitantly and took hold of the phone, his hand tightening around the cool plastic. Did he really need to do this? He was almost…_almost_…enjoying the reprieve. He hadn't exactly done anything _wrong…_ Part of him rebelled; the guilty part fought back. Forget it, he would just call. He lifted the phone, hearing the soft releasing click as it rose free of the holder.

_Whirrrr…_

The sound of a window cleaning box. Marth dropped the phone with a loud clatter and tensed dramatically in his seat. It wasn't as if he'd forgotten about that, but… He sat forward, staring at the computer screen in front of him blankly. The words had already disintegrated into a mindless jumble of letters in front of him. He forced himself to recite each word inside his head. _Please. See. Attached. Spreadsheet. Concerning… IkeIkeIkeIkeIkeIke._ The name echoed around his head, hammering persistently at the back of every second thought. His stomach lurched cruelly. Then he realised he hadn't even put the phone back in its place. He uncurled one of his hands and grasped the phone, placing it slowly back into its holder. He couldn't look. _He couldn't look._ Could he?

He raised his head slowly away from the computer screen. All it would take was a single flick of the eyes… He didn't want to look – he wasn't ready. But hadn't he _wanted_ this confrontation? With a deep breath he forced himself to sit back by degrees. Then he looked towards the window.

"Shi–" He jumped in his seat, colouring immediately at his own embarrassment. _When had he left the window open?_

Ike stood casually just inside the room, leaning back against the glass with a small smile. "What is it?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Why did this suddenly feel so much more intimate? He was barely a few feet forward from where he normally stood, and it wasn't like he was any less visible standing behind glass. But it _did_ feel more intimate. He was in the room, and that made all the difference. Marth swallowed apprehensively. Ike's gaze took in his startled expression, his smile widening.

"Sorry, would you like me to go back out and knock?"

Marth couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"I didn't mean to startle you – I thought you'd at least look up." He paused. "Or look down."

It was all too easy to catch on.

Ike shrugged playfully, then took a step forward into the room. The simple progression made Marth clench his hands unconsciously where they hovered over the keyboard. He drew back into his chair a little, watching wordlessly as Ike took a few casual steps around the edge of the room, looking around speculatively. Finally a single sentence managed to disentangle itself from the whirl of emotions, questions and accusations spinning around in his head. It fell out of him almost involuntarily.

"Where were you yesterday?"

It was the last thing he wanted to say.

"Hmm?" Ike turned towards him, pausing momentarily. "Oh, you know how they say it – '_some people have work to do_'." He grinned. He took a few more steps, advancing slowly around the edge of Marth's desk. A moment later he slipped off the orange puffer jacket he was wearing and let it slide softly from his shoulders, falling down to be held loosely in one hand. Marth stared at it, the edges of his vision burning with the image of Ike's strong, tanned bare arms and toned chest beneath the soft, pale grey cotton of his tank top. He refused himself the full indulgence and moved his eyes resolutely to his hands instead. Still, he was acutely aware of Ike moving to lean gently against the edge of his desk, propping himself up with one hand. This was followed by the soft drumming of three fingers against the wood. _Buh-duh-duhmp. Buh-duh-duhmp._

Marth could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. _Buh-duhmp. Buh-duhmp._

_Buh-duh-duhmp…Buh-duh-duhmp._

Marth took a deep breath. He had to say something. What was wrong with him? _Ike was just a man._ He looked up, back at Ike. His lips parted to form the words.

"Don't let me distract you or anything," Ike prompted, his deep blue eyes sparkling humorously. Marth tensed.

"Could you please g–" His breath hitched, cut off as Ike swooped suddenly around the corner of the desk and planted both hands either side of Marth's chair, pushing him away from his desk and spinning him around once playfully before pushing him backwards towards the window. Marth tensed at the sudden movement, grabbing onto the first thing he could to stop himself from falling off as he was propelled backwards. A moment later the back of the chair made contact with the window and Marth gasped, jolting uncomfortably. He stared back at Ike wide-eyed. It took a moment for his giddiness to clear, and when everything drew into sharp focus once more it was too late to look away.

"What? Have you never played around in a swivel chair before?" Ike smiled.

_Played around…_ Marth noted the emphasis. "You never stop, do you?" he answered quietly.

"I've come close," Ike replied teasingly, leaning closer as he spoke. Then he slipped a knee on the chair in the gap between Marth's legs, and shifted his weight so that his body was lowered nearer still. Marth sensed the gentle contact through his trousers and felt a surge of heat rush humiliatingly up through his thighs towards his groin.

"Let go," Ike instructed softly.

Marth tensed, suddenly realising that his hands had clasped around Ike's wrists automatically when Ike had pushed his chair back. He released his hold abruptly, blushing.

"Thanks," Ike murmured, moving so that his lips almost touched Marth's ear, "But that wasn't what I meant."

They were so close Marth could feel the heat coming off his skin. He kept completely still, consumed by a confusing mixture of fear and lust. Ike drew back slightly, ever so slightly, so that their noses were almost brushing. Marth was vaguely aware that his chest was rising and falling heavily, but he certainly had no sensation of more oxygen reaching his brain. It couldn't have been more than a minute since Ike had entered the room – why did it feel like he had always been there, closing off all the space somehow simply with his presence?

"I…Ike…" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together, feeling as though the simple action of opening his mouth to talk had somehow been an invitation.

"Good morning," Ike purred humorously, his low baritone trapping Marth's mind like a silky net. Marth stared back at him and all he could think was:_ I want to kiss him_. The impulse came entirely from his lower half. He wanted to… Suppressed thoughts, dismissed thoughts, ignored thoughts suddenly drifted, unbidden, into his mind. Simple thoughts, like the thought that he found Ike attractive. Like the thought that he hadn't had sex in a while. Like the thought that Pit's innocence almost made him feel guilty for having sexual thoughts. He didn't want these thoughts at all. And here Ike was, this man with obvious sexual intent, almost forcing the thoughts into his mind, almost obliging him to lose control, one way or the other. Marth was…angry. He hated this guilt tripping. He hated the way Ike hadn't been there yesterday and now he was back first thing today as if it meant nothing, stringing Marth's emotions along and cutting off his words, offering him an option he couldn't take. He hated himself for not being able to stop thinking of Ike. He _could_ say no – he _could_! Ike just never listened to him. He heard him but he just ignored him and kept coming back because he arrogantly assumed he knew what Marth _wanted... _But Marth didn't want that, he _didn't want to want that…_ He'd managed to pass the whole of yesterday _not_ thinking of what he wanted…

And the way Ike looked at him now – it was like he knew, despite everything, as if he knew what Marth wanted _better than Marth_ and he was just waiting for Marth to give in because he knew that Marth wanted…

_Marth wanted to taste his tongue._

Ike closed the distance between them with his lips. Both their mouths were open in an instant, pushing messily into each other, one with anger and frustration and one with easy passion, dominant expectation. Marth's erection felt hot and heavy inside his trousers.

He hated that Ike was right.

He rose off the chair, his body pushing against Ike's automatically, demanding more. A moment later he heard the sound of the chair being kicked to one side. Marth felt strong hands on his shoulders as he was pushed up against the window.

'Let's create a little..._condensation_.' Ike's voice rumbled through him like a shudder. And then Ike lowered his head to Marth's collarbone and suddenly Marth was aware of everything – the exact flick of Ike's tongue against his skin, the solid, unyielding surface of the window against his back, the slight catching of their belts as Ike ground his hips against Marth's. He waited for the arousal to numb his mind, to take over. But he had never been so aware of the position of his limbs, the way Ike was leaning slightly to the right, his chest solid and firm against Marth's. He was aware of every inward flush and jolt as his arousal wound higher, Ike steering him awkwardly back against the desk. The sensations almost seemed too acute, searing into him with every touch. His hands tightened around the fabric of Ike's tank top with the intention of pulling it off but his muscles locked into position, forcefully locking Ike flush against him. He couldn't tell the different between the feelings of stress, lust and anger. The tension dragged on his every response, his lips trembling against Ike's and his movements jerky as Ike massaged his thumbs into the dips of Marth's hips.

He felt the hard edge of the desk dig into his arse, then heard the click of a belt being undone and didn't realise it was his own until he felt a sudden release around his groin, heat escaping between them. But even now he could still _see_ everything – the colours of the books on the bookcase, the way the light from the window cast Ike slightly in silhouette, his darkened features all the more alluring. His peripheral senses refused to shut down even as Ike's hand slipped down inside his pants and groped him, stroking steadily. Marth rocked into him without thinking, gasping at the reward of pressure against the tenderness of his erection. But even as the arousal burnt through him he noticed the slight catch of Ike's watch on the inside of his trousers with each movement, the soft sound of Ike's heavy breathing, the _tick of the clock_. Ike pulled away a little, his hand slipping out again, and Marth swayed at the loss of contact until Ike placed both hands on his waist and began to turn Marth around gently. Marth struggled for a moment, torn, not knowing if it would be worse to face Ike or not. Every split second of indecision struck him like a drum. But Ike led the way, one large hand slipping under the back of Marth's shirt as he pressed Marth forward to lean on the desk. Marth put his hands on the desk, bracing himself, aching with the anticipation. And why, _why_ wouldn't his mind shut down now? Surely now he would forget, _now_ he would lose it. But no – he noticed the position of everything on his desk, the odd familiarity turning something in his gut as he felt his trousers being pulled down to his ankles, the left side catching slightly on his hip and thigh as it went.

Fingers pressed into him, slick and hot, the sudden intrusion leaving Marth breathless. He didn't even register anything emotionally at the thought that Ike had already had lube on him, his mind consumed with bodily sensations. He was overwhelmingly aware of every push and pull inside him, so invasive and sharply erotic. He arched his body towards Ike, suddenly possessed with the urge to be _filled_, taken, drowned in stimulation until he screamed. He wanted…he _wanted…_

Ike removed his fingers and for a moment the heat and intensity hung in the air like a fog. There was the all-too-loud sound of a condom being readied. Marth clenched his hands into fists, barely able to conceive of the thought that –

And then Ike pushed in and Marth fell forward with a muffled groan, the sound reverberating like a shock in his ears as his elbows gave out weakly. The left one hit the desk first with a jarring thud, followed by the right and he leaned forward, helpless, until his forehead rested on the cool top of the desk. He smelt the old, slightly disinfectant-tinged smell of it. It was as if all of his senses were conspiring to make Marth feel every second of his sin as acutely as possible. He didn't make it stop.

Then there was the steady movement of Ike's cock inside him, stretching him and pleasuring him, sending hot pulses of blood and hormones raging through Marth's body. He groaned louder and Ike thrust in harder, pushing Marth's arousal further until it felt like his skin was too tight for all the feelings that were ravishing it. Clenching his jaw he pushed back rhythmically to match Ike's thrusts, the cotton of his top feeling rough and irritating as it moved against his back. Ike bent over him, his hands teasing at Marth's belly and sides. Marth was still mostly dressed but he had never felt so violently exposed. A hot pool of tension was building low in his spine, all the way down his abdomen and into his groin. By now he was thrusting erratically into air, his hands trapped under his chest. His body shook slightly with each new thrust, desperately seeking an end. His eyes fixated on some non-existent spot on the desk, his awareness of sight finally slipping as arousal overrode its place in his mind, possessed him. Not able to see Ike he could only feel him, and feel him… Every nerve ending blazed. He wanted…he _wanted…_

Ike's hand took hold of his cock as if he had spoken the words, sliding steadily over him in time with his thrusts. He increased his speed gradually, measured and deliberate without any pause for relief or calming, steadily building Marth's arousal like a memorised symphony of bodies. No hesitations, not a moment to think or catch his breath as Marth drew closer to completion. Marth trembled, Ike's hand tightening around him at just the right moment until he was so startlingly _not there_ that he could only tremble until he _was_ there_, _achingly _there…_ He convulsed, contracted, came. A harsh groan scorched his throat as his fingers clenched weakly against the surface of the desk, only just holding onto his bearings as Ike followed him over with a few last hard thrusts.

After a few moments Ike withdrew, leaving Marth feeling shaky and suddenly cold. He heard Ike pulling up his jeans and redoing the belt. The sounds seemed to come from somewhere else; distant, irrelevant. For what felt like an eternity Marth remained where he was, breathing heavily and partly in shock. His body, which had felt so sensitised moments before, calmed into an odd numbness. Finally self-consciousness crept in through the haze – his arms were still propped up on the desk, his trousers still around his ankles. He shifted slowly, everything feeling surreal and yet painfully present as he reached down to pull up his trousers. His balance was off and he keeled forwards slightly, having to put a hand on the desk for a moment to steady himself before straightening to do up his zip. Slowly he turned on the spot, feeling completely out of place and not having the slightest idea what to do. The sight of Ike sent a shiver through him that was simultaneously hot and cold. Ike's expression was unfathomable.

A sudden fear sparked in his brain and shot through his entire system like an electric shock. What if Ike left. The fear twitched into his muscles, became a movement. His right leg jerked forward to take a step towards Ike but as soon as his foot met the ground his knee buckled, his muscles suddenly weaker than putty. Ike caught him just as he crumpled like a rag doll. Somehow he ended up sitting sideways across Ike's thighs, leaning against his chest whilst his head lolled against Ike's shoulder. He felt Ike's torso tremor gently against him as the window cleaner chuckled.

"Have I worn you out?" the low voice asked playfully.

Marth didn't know how to feel. He barely registered Ike's question. He swallowed, the warm presence of Ike's arms wrapped around him both comforting and frightening.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, the fear too strong to stop himself.

"If you like," Ike answered easily. "I can come back tomorrow."

Marth nodded weakly, closing his eyes against a sudden nausea. For a moment everything steadied, just his and Ike's heartbeats in the silence. But then Ike let go and stood smoothly, helping Marth to his feet.

"I'll see you soon." With a smile Ike turned and walked back towards the window. He climbed into the window cleaning box and then with a short parting wave he ascended out of sight. Just like that. Marth stared at the window until he could no longer see him. Then he walked backwards slowly until he collided with the desk, gripping onto the edge of it tightly as though if he didn't the world might slide away. He could feel the thought coming, the thought he didn't want to think, gaining on him like a train derailing in slow motion.

And then it came; crashing, grinding, screeching against every neurone:

_What had he done?_

* * *

Pit knew that something wasn't right. He slipped his key into Marth's front door and stepped in quietly. He wandered around, looking into the familiar kitchen with affection. Perhaps he was looking for something, but he didn't know what. He had been so happy when Marth had first given him the key! Standing there he smiled at the memory.

It had been just over a month ago now. They had stumbled in out of the cold after another evening out and as Pit had shrugged out of his coat he had felt warmed by the familiarity of it. When Marth had turned and smiled back at him he had never felt more welcome. He'd beamed back and giggled, "Feels like coming home." Marth's expression had changed then. His smile didn't fade but his expression became thoughtful and then flashed with impulsive decision. Turning he headed to the kitchen and beckoned for Pit to follow, before rummaging in a draw and holding out a silver key.

"A spare house key," Marth said, "For you."

Pit had felt the beginning of tears in his eyes but held them back with a wide smile instead. "Really?"

"Sure." Marth waited as Pit tentatively lifted the key from his hand. Pit had simply stared at it for a moment, wondering how something so light could feel so _heavy._ What had he done to earn this? He would be happy and grateful towards Marth always! He would show Marth every day how happy Marth had made him! He would show Marth, and show himself, how much and how devotedly he could love. When he looked down at the key in his hand he was nearly overwhelmed by the gesture, the silent way Marth was telling him he could call Marth's house home.

Now Pit walked over to that same drawer that Marth had originally taken the key from and paused by it solemnly, thinking to himself. Marth hadn't been himself these previous days, and something was definitely wrong. He'd become distant and was acting as though he didn't want Pit's attention or gifts. Pit couldn't understand it. If Marth hadn't liked those things, why hadn't he objected to them before? Something else must have happened. But maybe he was looking too much into things. Maybe Marth just hadn't liked the last few gifts – not to his taste, maybe. But he'd only said it was too much… No – Pit could never give Marth too much! He could never give Marth enough to show him how much he loved him! He had to show Marth how much he loved him, he _had_ to!

The silence of the house didn't hold the same promise that it usually did. Pit shook his head, trying to clear his mind of negative thoughts. It was all in his mind. Marth was probably just tired from work or having family problems with his sister or something. Pit could book a massage for them both and then they could relax and maybe Marth would tell him what was wrong.

The silence continued. Normally Pit would feel energised by it – it meant that Marth was out for a while and Pit had a chance to prepare treats for when he came home. He would fill the silence with his own eager bustling to and fro, making arrangements.

A moment passed and then Pit decided to go through the motions, walking to the fridge and opening it to survey the ingredients inside. A quick survey of the contents gave him the idea to pack Marth a lunchbox. Just one small extra treat, because Marth generally made his own lunch, and then he could drive it to Marth's office as a surprise gift. Maybe that would help cheer Marth from whatever it was. He decided to go for a simple fruit salad and compote. He laid all the fruit he wanted out on the counter and then walked over to the cutlery drawer.

But what if Marth really didn't love him anymore? What would he do? Could he blame Marth if he stopped liking him? If he found someone better? No…

Pit realised he'd been staring blankly into the cutlery drawer, his eyes drifting over the shiny straight edges. He blinked, abruptly forcing the thoughts away again and continued to prepare the fruit with renewed vigour. A few minutes later the fruit salad was complete and Pit took a moment to check that it was beautifully arranged in the Tupperware before casting a glance at the clock. Ten minutes to ten. Now he just had to drive it over to Marth's office. He cast a final, somewhat wistful glance back at the house, then closed the front door behind him and left.

He regained a more hopeful outlook when he arrived at the offices and asked the receptionist which room he could find Marth in. He got into the nearest lift and pressed the button for the 23rd floor. Pit didn't deserve Marth, he knew, but Marth had chosen to be with him and Pit had done everything he could to be the best that he could be… He hoped Marth would like the fruit salad. Marth…Marth meant everything to him.

The lift stopped and Pit stepped out with the Tupperware in his hands and began to walk down the corridor. Each door looked almost identical. The block of offices wasn't a unity in itself, rather a collection of office spaces up for rental by whoever needed them. Marth's room was almost at the end of the corridor. Pit drew up to it rapidly, nervously excited. He straightened his back deliberately and lifted his chin with a smile. He wondered how surprised Marth would be to see him – it would be the first time Pit had gone all the way up to visit his office directly, although he'd picked Marth up from reception before. He pictured Marth's happily surprised expression and let his smile widen in anticipation. A moment later he arrived outside the door and raised his hand to knock.

And then he stopped.

His knuckles were barely an inch from the wood but he spread his fingers instead, slowly pressing his open palm against the closed door. He'd banished his first thought in less than a second. Marth was ill, Marth was exasperated, Marth was angry with someone on the phone.

But Pit knew those sounds.

The first thought came crashing back down on him like an avalanche. He did everything he could not to think it but trampling over the weak rebuffal was every other misgiving thought he'd had, crushing themselves into place – Marth becoming more distant towards him, not wanting his gifts, almost acting like he wanted to push Pit away but being too kind… Perhaps Pit was outside the wrong room. Perhaps someone else was in Marth's room today.

But somewhere in his mind, somewhere he desperately wasn't looking or thinking about – he knew.

He lowered his hand from the door. It would be too much, too painful for him to confirm it. This way at least he could…he could be wrong. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring down at the Tupperware in his hands. It felt as though time had thrown him off onto a different loop, all of his senses both dulled and burning simultaneously. Feeling numb and hollow he bent over jerkily, placed the fruit salad on the floor outside the door, and then turned and left.


	13. Chapter 13

_**AN:**__ The author, surprisingly, is not dead. Nor is this being written by a belated impersonator. Or a robot programmed to finish stories if they're left unattended for a certain period. No, this really is me. After no less than a two year hiatus._

_The time is 23:44, March 18th 2014. There is no apology or chapter that could make up for such a hiatus - I hope only that I have at least managed to do justice to the story itself._

_There are multiple reasons why I'm not the best fan of this story (have you ever seen a more out of character Ike? It might as well be original fic, and that's just one reason), but I like it enough to finish it, if there is still interest._

_(The last time I updated this story was March 18th 2012._

_*The last time I touched this story at all was in April 2012.) But then I came back._

* * *

The room was neither large nor small, about five paces across and nine deep. The desk was positioned about halfway in against the wall, made of a cheap but pleasant looking wood. It was partially covered in an organised assortment of stationary items awaiting use. The swivel chair in front of the desk was black, standard office issue, comfortable but practical. A small metal trash can sat on the floor at one end of the desk, half full. Against the opposite wall but nearer to the window was the bookcase, of a matching wood to the desk. It was mainly for show and had very few books in it – the only ones Marth ever read were the occasional mystery novel at lunch breaks or the large dictionary and thesaurus when he needed to look up a word. The window was the only notable feature, taking up the entirety of the end wall and flooding the room with the dull morning light. It was only that window that stopped the room from looking like what it really was – bland, claustrophobic.

Marth hated it.

Standing just inside the office door Marth felt rather than knew that he would never look at the room in the same way again. It wasn't a conscious decision either from before or at that moment to quit his job. But that room, now… It contained too much. It contained nothing.

Only Pit would ever bring him a fruit salad.

He'd spent hours on end thinking in an endless spiralling loop, hoping that Pit hadn't arrived when…and if he had… One of his hands clenched around the corner of the desk, so hard that the corner dug in sharply, leaving a sharp red indent in his palm when he pulled it away. He'd never meant for it to end like this. He turned away from the window and walked across the room in a hurry only to stop and turn back again, twisting and turning helplessly as if looking for the exit. This wasn't the first time he'd wondered why he'd even chosen to come in today. But he didn't know what else he could do. For better or worse – he had to see Ike.

Marth leant against the wall but his muscles were too tense to let it support any of his weight. It had never been his intention to hurt Pit. _Then why did you do that, you idiot?_ his brain screamed. No, no…Pit… To his disgust he felt a lump building in his throat.

He was going to lose Pit. The thought was like a brick in his stomach. It was obvious and it was true and it was inevitable. He felt sick. It felt like somehow this had always been going to happen and yet… He turned once more and walked back across the room, not even looking at his computer.*

The room was plain, so plain. Empty, like an empty plate after a cheap meal.

When Ike finally arrived in the late afternoon, it was almost anticlimactic.

Ike looked much as he ever had. His blue tank top brought out the colour of his hair and the muscles of his arms were as attractively defined as ever. His jeans were low slung but well fitting; he hooked his thumbs in at the hips as he leant back casually against the window. Marth had left it open so he could come in of his own accord.

"_Hey_," Ike mouthed.

Marth walked slowly over towards him, and stopped within arms' reach. He raised his hands and gently took hold of Ike's tank top in his fists. Not really knowing what to do; neither pushing nor pulling. Just holding on.

He wasn't sure who leant in first, but maybe he just didn't want to admit it was him.

It wasn't as pure as lust. An urge to forget and an urge to hold onto something solid was stirred in like marble cake mixture. Ike's hands were hot on his skin, tracing distraction up his thighs. It was passionate, almost terrifyingly so, scary how _easily_ Ike made the passion flow, yet there was a patience behind it that almost made Marth panic between kisses, something so opposite from his impatient shakiness.

The table wasn't comfortable but Marth ignored it. He trembled under Ike's firm touch, moaning, gasping. There was something so horribly pleasurable about the way Ike could command Marth's body, arousing him, filling his mind with a heated haze. There were moments like goosebumps, strange pinprick moments where he wanted to run away, but this _was_ running away. A strange angry masochism merely drove him on, fuelling his passion and the way he tugged at Ike's hair and moaned into his mouth like maybe he would be screaming if he had more air.

At some point the phone on Marth's desk started ringing. One of them, or maybe both, pushed it off.

He remembered when he was young he used to play with his sister on the beach. He would ask his sister to bury him in the sand up to the neck using as much sand as she could, and compacting it down as much as she dared. Then he would try to move. At first the sand would barely give it all as he wriggled inside his Marth-shaped mould. Testing every joint, creating air space where any loose sand would fall to fill its place. But he would keep going, waiting for the moment where the bulk of the sand would be weakened enough to crack, to suddenly give when there was just enough pressure. The wet sand would split in great blocks around his limbs as he wrenched himself free. Free, and exposed again.

When it was done Marth simply sat on the desk for a moment, looking across at where Ike was standing. Ike looked up from doing his belt and caught his gaze.

"What, want some more?" he grinned.

Marth blushed and looked away.

"I won't be around here anymore, by the way. Unfortunately I'm fired and good to go in more than the sexual sense." He winked.

Marth's heart stopped. "You…" The air had suddenly gone. The words wouldn't come out.

"End of the week I'm off. Which is…today." He shrugged dismissively. "The view from the windows won't be half as good now, clean or not. Their loss." With an easy smile he ran a hand through his hair and waited for Marth's response, as if he'd told Marth nothing more than his favourite colour.

What Marth wanted to ask felt wrong, he knew it. His world was teetering on a precipice. But he had to ask.

"Will I see you again?"

A look passed over Ike's face that made the bottom drop out of Marth's stomach. But a split second later it was gone, mixed up, as if he'd remembered something, or changed his mind. His expression softened a little.

"Sure. Is Sunday good?"

"Sure." Marth swallowed. Ike suggested picking him up from his house to go for a meal, they settled on noon, and then Ike turned to leave.

Before, Marth had always wanted to know the words to make him leave. Now he was terrified he knew what they were.

* * *

Pit slowly put his mobile phone down on the dashboard.

He'd heard a clunk as the receiving phone hit the floor. Moaning, gasping, movement. The sounds rang hollowly in his head. He stared numbly out through the car windscreen, up at the office block, up towards Marth's window. Something invisible was keeping him from falling, like a wall of glass in his mind. It didn't hurt. He was looking in on himself from a distance.

He closed his eyes.

"_Hey Marth, how about a camping trip? And we can sit around the camp fire and tell each other stories, like kids!"_

"_Hey Marth, I saw this coat the other day and thought of you – look how fluffy the hood is! Feel it, it's so fluffy!"_

"_Marth, you're so beautiful." Pit beamed from ear to ear. When he held Marth's equally beaming face in his hands, he felt like he was cradling starshine. _

He opened his eyes. The steering wheel blurred in front of him.

"_Mind your step – you'll trip – Marth!"_

"_Marth, come here, I'll kiss it better, hehe. I'll be gentle, I promise! Can I?"_

"_Marth, you look silly." The flour had spilt, and Pit had put a dot of it on Marth's nose. In response Marth had done the same, and then there was lots of flour poking and face poking and laughter. "We're polkadot pals! Haha. I love you."_

His eyes and throat felt hot, the rest of him felt cold. He felt an urge to seek Marth out for a hug.

Marth. Pit slowly wrapped his arms around himself.

Time passed slowly in the silence of his car. Half an hour later it was five o'clock – Marth's shift was over. Pit felt his heart beat a little faster, almost like the way it used to when he saw a clock show that time. But each fast beat felt laborious now, weighted by the sick feeling his stomach. He looked out the window and rested his forehead on the cool glass. Inside he felt an urge to run from the car, run to Marth, run into his arms. But he couldn't.

Another half an hour slipped by. Pit reached for the pack of tissues in the glove box and cleaned up his face. He took a shaky breath and stepped out of the car. Numb and lost he walked towards the building, not really thinking about what he was doing. Once inside he took the lift to the 23rd floor. He found Marth's room. The door was unlocked, and he stepped inside.

The room smelt musty and sweaty. Pit stood in its centre and looked around. There was nothing personal about the space – not even a picture. It was an empty workspace, that was all. He closed his eyes, and in a sudden flash he felt the light touch of Marth's hand cupping his cheek as it used to in comfort or affection, a warm thumb brushing the edge of his lips. It was ten times worse when he opened his eyes, and the sensation he'd willed into life vanished with it. No one was coming to tell him it'd be okay. He was alone; a spinning top in outer space.

All he'd ever wanted to do was make Marth happy. Being loved by Marth and being his boyfriend was Pit's whole world. And in the end, he couldn't even do that.

He walked over to the window and stared out at the sky blankly. He didn't want a world without Marth in it. But he just _wasn't good enough_. A sob shook him.

He opened the window wide and felt the cold air blow over the tracks of his tears.

_Marth, I love you!_

At that moment everything seemed to crumble and fall into darkness, like the blackness that overcomes paper as it is burnt. Marth didn't love him. He just got in the way; Marth would be better off without him. Marth had someone else now. He had nothing. He was nothing.

Crying, he fixed his eyes on the horizon. He was standing on the very edge of the window ledge, half in and half out, and he could feel the wind in his clothes and hair.

Despite everything, he couldn't help wishing Marth was there with him.

* * *

When Marth got home that night, there was still no message from Pit. He checked both his mobile and landline several times, but there was nothing. He wondered if he should be worried. Was Pit finally just giving him some space? Was that all? Then he should encourage that right, by not replying?

He slumped into the sofa and hugged a cushion to his chest, worrying. His heart beat a tiring tempo of stress and guilt. Pit would forgive his cinema stress, but if he knew about Ike…and surely he did know, or else Marth would have heard from him.

He pulled his knees up and buried his nose into the cushion, inhaling the familiar fabric. It smelt faintly of tea. No, no, he had to do something.

Before he could change his mind he grabbed the landline and dialled Pit's number. Pit didn't pick up either on his home number or mobile number. He left a message both times, just apologising for his behaviour at the cinema and asking if Pit was okay. He didn't know what else to say. He hung up. The silence haunted him.

_Pit knew_.

He could feel the knowledge sitting heavily in the air. Marth knew that if he sat there he would be thinking about it all night. It had to come out. He was terrified. He didn't know if he'd ever been more scared in his life.

Even as fear pinned him to the sofa cushions, fear for Pit's unhappiness made him stand. He had to, he had to… He had to go to Pit's house. He had to confront it.

Unlike Pit, he didn't have a car, and it was a while since he had caught the bus there. Still, the place was easy enough to recognise, the front door a welcoming pale peach with hanging baskets of flowers either side. It was only an ordinary terrace house, but Pit had done everything to make it airy and cosy.

Marth reached into his pocket for his spare key. He'd never actually used it before now; whenever he'd visited Pit's house before Pit had been there to let him in. He'd only brought it just in case. Walking up to the door he rang the doorbell. There was no reply. He rang the bell again and knocked a few times, but again there was no answer. Pit wasn't at home. Or was he just not answering? Marth looked around awkwardly, frozen for a moment. And then, heart pounding, he slipped his key into the lock and let himself in.

The hallway was quiet as Marth wiped his shoes on the doormat before taking them off entirely.

"Pit?"

No answer. Pit wasn't home then.

From the hallway Marth walked into the living room. It was messier than Marth had expected somehow – Pit didn't somehow have all the time in the world after all. There was a big pile of recipe books on the coffee table and Marth found himself smiling unconsciously. He turned and headed upstairs.

Pit's bedroom was the first on the left, a pale purple room. Here it was even messier, though the mess did appear to be organised, if that made any sense. His eye caught on something in particular on top of the drawers. It was a picture frame, a plain wooden one, lying down. Around it there were other framed pictures of him and Pit, but the wooden one was empty. Marth picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was carved with an elegant leaf design. He guessed Pit just hadn't found a picture for this one yet.

He sat down on Pit's bed and flopped back, staring at the ceiling. The silence was deafening. A tear slid slowly out of his eye, over his cheek and down onto the pillow behind him.

* * *

"HEY!"

A voice yelled up from below, and the loud noise made Pit flinch violently. He tensed, overbalanced, and that was it. He lost his grip on the edge of the window, and before he knew it he was falling.

The air rushed through his hair and clothes, as cold as shock against his skin, his body falling as fast as his heart this time. He panicked. He twisted mid-air, snatching at nothing and feeling parts of himself hit the side of the building. Tumbling, falling. Forever in less than a second.

And then strong arms caught him – or parts of him, and he tumbled awkwardly onto some sort of metal floor. The impact slammed through his body and knocked the air from his lungs. His ears rang. For a long moment his body felt paralyzed and he couldn't tell if he was moving, or even breathing. He hurt, but he couldn't tell where. Were his eyes open? There were sounds.

"…Hey. Hey."

A hand shook him, and then a strong arm slid around his middle and lifted him, cradling him in a sort of sitting position. He didn't want to open his eyes. Then –

"_Pit?_"

His mind was slow recognising the voice. His heart recognised it before him and pumped one slow, heavy, adrenalin-fuelled beat, and for a split second he felt like he was falling again. He opened his eyes automatically. And there, there was his rescuer. _No, no…_

_Ike…_


	14. Chapter 14

"What the fuck were you doing?" Ike's voice was sharp and angry.

Pit couldn't keep on his feet. His knees gave way beneath him and he sunk down against the corner of the window cleaning box. The world was spinning a little, off kilter. He felt like he might throw up. Relief overwhelmed him first, uncontrollably. He sobbed dryly, but for a moment the tears were delayed, held behind the shock.

Ike's hands grabbed his upper arms and shook him.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Ike's voice cut through his hazy mind and brought him back to the present. The tears came then, finally, fast and hot, feeling as if they were spilling from an endless ache deep inside of him. It was too much.

Ike pulled Pit towards him and Pit fell helplessly against his chest. Ike's arms around him were strong rather than gentle, but they held him there and Pit grabbed him back without thinking. He just needed to hold on to something solid.

"Shit. _Shit_." Ike's voice shook at the edges, just discernible behind the anger.

For a moment Ike was gone, and then there was a whirring sound and a jolt as the box began to move. Pit whimpered, uprooted, his face a mess, but a moment later Ike's arm was around him again. Something deep inside him was screaming to push Ike away but everything else just hurt too much. The thought of nobody being there at all was like watching himself drowning.

He was too upset to care how he looked as Ike helped him out of the window cleaning box and into the main building, then into the lift which they rode down to the ground floor. Ike's arm was wrapped strongly around his waist as he essentially dragged Pit out through the lobby. Outside it was raining heavily, the sound loud but somehow distant. Ike swore.

"Awful weather for a scooter. I don't even have a spare helmet. Do you have a car?"

Pit nodded. They were already getting soaked where they stood.

"Give me your keys."

Pit handed them over without protest and led the way to his car. Ike pushed him into the passenger seat before sliding in the driver's. He turned on the engine and drove.

Pit didn't recognise the direction that they took. He stared out at the rain pouring down the window. Ike drove in silence, and Pit was glad.

Ike pulled up outside an apartment block about thirty minutes later. Vaguely it registered in Pit's mind as where Ike lived. He'd only been there once before, but it had been more than enough.

After parking Ike walked around to Pit's side of the car and opened the door.

"Come on."

Pit looked up at him emptily.

"I'm not going to princess carry you," Ike said.

A small smile registered somewhere deep inside him, but it didn't reach the surface.

"Alright, apparently I am." Ike leaned in.

"N-no…no." It felt weird to hear himself speak.

"Alright then."

Pit stood slowly and followed Ike into the block and up to his apartment. A small ring of irony echoed through the dull hollow of his mind. He felt numb again, but it was a fragile numbness that could just as easily break.

Ike's apartment was minimalist and clean. The front door opened straight into an open plan room that was a kitchen on the left and a lounge on the right. Ike ushered him gently towards the sofa. There was a white throw over it with a pale pinstripe look and coffee-coloured cushions. It was very simple and neat. Pit sat down and brought his knees up to his chest. He felt very alone.

"What were you doing?" Ike asked, as much a demand as a question. He hadn't even sat down. Pit had a feeling he wouldn't move until he answered. The words spilt from him, more bitter and more broken than he had expected.

"I th-thought I m-might as well..." Pit's lips trembled. "I…I don't know. M-Marth doesn't…doesn't…love me anymore."

"Marth," Ike echoed softly, seemingly to himself. "Jesus fucking Christ."

He walked away down the short corridor that led through to the back of the apartment; his bedroom and bathroom. When he came back he was holding a thick white towel which he slung around Pit's shoulders, presumably so he could dry off from the rain. But as Pit grabbed the corners he caught Ike's eye, and suddenly he put two and two together.

"It was…" Pit could hardly bring himself to speak, but Ike had stopped moving, and he could see in the other man's eyes that he knew what was coming. "It was you, wasn't it?"

In response Ike slowly lowered himself onto the sofa so that he was straddling Pit. None of his weight was on Pit but his thighs were either side of Pit's, and his hands were on the top of the sofa, trapping him in.

"Were you really going to kill yourself?" he asked softly.

Pit didn't know. He had thought it. But it had felt like falling, not like jumping. He didn't know. It felt like he had a hole in his chest. A strange look was on Ike's face.

"Why don't you sleep with me then?" Ike suggested, equally quietly.

"What?"

"If your life really means nothing to you outside of Marth. You don't have him anymore. In this moment, you only have me. Why not?"

This wasn't…couldn't be happening. Pit found himself swamped in confusing emotions, and the only thought that came clear was that this wasn't how Ike did things. Right now this, this wasn't Ike. This was not the kind of seduction he had ever heard. It was terrifying.

Ike leant in closer. "If your body is so worthless you can throw it out a window, then surely it doesn't matter if I use it for my pleasure, does it?" The low aggression in his voice had Pit paralysed.

"S-Stop…"

Ike slipped one hand gently behind Pit's neck. He was so close now.

"Why not just give in?" Ike whispered.

The moment stretched to infinity. Even through his misery and self-hatred a furious spark glinted. This was the man that had ruined him, had slept with Marth, and now apparently intended to take him again after all this time and pain, just like that. His eyes fell to Ike's slightly parted lips. He felt a small, involuntary bloom of lust. It was this, in the end, which finally broke through his paralysis – the sudden, violent reflex of revulsion. It snapped through him like elastic, like an urge to vomit. He shoved Ike back.

"NO! I'M BETTER THAN THAT!"

Ike backed off the sofa easily, almost casually. His expression was hard edged as he stood across from Pit.

"I know," he said. Almost as if he had been waiting on that answer.

He walked away, towards the kitchen. Pit's heart pounded painfully inside his ribs. He was hardly aware of how shaky his breathing was until he realised the sound was coming from him. He felt angry but he felt better but he felt angry about feeling better. It wasn't Ike that had made him feel better, he reminded himself. It was that he had rejected Ike that made him feel stronger. Except it wasn't just that. Pit self-consciously fiddled with the towel around him. Ike had done more than just let Pit reject him. Mixed feelings spilled into confusion, frustration, then more anger. Pit stood, letting the towel fall from his shoulders, and stepped out so that he could see the kitchen.

"Ike –"

He was interrupted by the violent smashing of a mug into the kitchen floor, an act that had obviously been deliberate. Ike was turned away from him, gripping the kitchen counter.

"Ike." He didn't know what he wanted to say anymore.

Ike turned around slowly and looked at him. His eyes were red around the edges.

Pit hesitated and then walked towards him slowly, a little taken aback but no longer afraid. He stopped within a few feet of Ike, and let the man's raw gaze pierce through him although it hurt to hold the eye contact.

"I hate you, Ike. I really do," he said softly.

Ike smiled faintly, and swallowed.

Pit's lips trembled and another tear finally found its way out. "But you're not a villain."

Ike looked away. "I c– I don't know how to deal with –" He looked back at Pit and cut himself off. He stared down at the floor. It was probably the most honest and heartfelt thing Pit had ever or would ever hear him say.

He stepped forward and hugged him, and let Ike's top absorb his tears.

Perhaps he noticed when Ike's arms went around him, this time gently and comfortingly, and perhaps he noticed that Ike's breathing wasn't as even as it could have been, and maybe he even noticed when Ike whispered _I'm sorry_ into his hair, but his eyes were closed and he let it all wash over him, like waves upon a beach.

#

Morning came slowly, warm sunlight pouring through unfamiliar cream curtains. Pit rubbed his eyes, still feeling the dull lag of exhaustion. He was lying on the sofa, a borrowed blanket on top of him. Ike's sofa. Reluctantly he remembered the previous evening. Ike had cleaned up the broken mug and made them both hot drinks. They'd sat together on the sofa and watched mindless television and talked of nothing in surreal stops and starts, and when it got late Ike told him he would go and get Pit a blanket, and that was that. Pit hadn't expected to sleep, but in the end exhaustion had won over.

He sat up slowly and self-consciously finger-combed his hair for a moment. Belatedly he noticed that there was a mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table beside him. He touched it. Still hot. He picked it up and began to sip at it.

Just then Ike stepped into his field of vision wearing a shirt and jeans, his hair still wet from a shower. He nodded at Pit.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Uh…"

"Okay, just say if you object to any of the following: toast, bacon, scrambled egg." He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, good."

Pit followed him into the kitchen and leant against the edge of the small dining table. He watched Ike with a sort of lazy fascination, probably not in part due to an aversion to thinking about anything else. The sound of frying bacon and egg was soothing, and the smell made his stomach grumble.

"Thanks for the hot chocolate," he said quietly.

"You're welcome." Ike smiled lightly at him. "How did you sleep?"

"Not bad." Pit shrugged.

Ike continued to cook, and when it was all done he passed Pit a plate. Pit took it and stared at it for a moment.

"So you do care," he said without thinking.

Ike snort-laughed. "Don't tell anyone, it would ruin my reputation," he said dryly.

"I…" Pit smiled weakly and sat down with his plate. He almost felt bad for saying it, as if it had been a revelation. As if he hadn't known that Ike was human before, as if he hadn't learnt that he was already last night. But he'd never seen this side of Ike before. "I don't really know you."

"I don't think you'd be interested to." It was a statement, not an invitation. Ike tucked into his bacon.

They finished their breakfast in silence and Ike dumped their empty plates in the sink.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

It was Saturday, the day he was supposed to meet Marth for Legally Blonde. He knew that they weren't going to be able to go and see that, not now. But he still needed to see Marth.

"I'll…I'll drive to Marth's," he said. As much as he wanted to put it off, he couldn't stay here, and he didn't…he couldn't be alone just yet.

"Alright." Ike took his hand and pressed his car keys into it. He kept the contact a moment longer than necessary. The metal felt cold and heavy in Pit's hand.

He was tying up his shoes when the tears came back. The shoelaces blurred in front of him and suddenly he couldn't breathe and couldn't move anymore. He slumped back, sitting on the floor. A moment later he felt a warm hand on his back. He turned to look at Ike through watery eyes.

"I hate you. I hate you so much." He leant in towards Ike, burying his face in his shoulder and letting Ike hold him as he sobbed. It wasn't just that he hated what Ike had done or what he represented or what he was capable of, but he hated that Ike couldn't be the comfort that he needed, the friend that his caring side presented the illusion of, and he couldn't hold onto Ike and cry and talk it all out to Ike because Ike was Ike. He knew Ike the way he knew him and now Ike had been involved in his relationship with Marth and there was no going back from any of that. Ike couldn't help him with the hole in his heart because he was part of it. And he hated Ike because he didn't really hate him, because he couldn't.

"Why? Why did it have to be you?" he cried, beating weakly at Ike's chest.

Ike simply held him there where they knelt on the beige carpet, and said nothing. No words would ever be enough.

Pit didn't know how long they stayed like that. He cried himself empty, and accepted the tissue Ike passed to him as he gently leant away. For perhaps a minute longer they just sat there in the silence, one heartbeat and miles away. Eventually Pit stood, and Ike followed his lead.

"My outside doormat has a gap in the stitching. Inside is where I keep my spare key." Ike's voice was serious, delivering the information openly even though it wasn't really an open offer and both of them knew it.

"I'm probably going to forget that within ten minutes of leaving here," Pit answered as calmly as he could, because he understood. He turned, opening the front door for himself. He looked back only once.

"Thanks."

If Ike felt anything at that or his departure, he hid it well.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN:** Thanks for the reviews, it means so much to me that people are still following this. I'm sorry for all the angst. But it's been a long time a-coming.

* * *

Pit parked the car about two streets from where Marth lived so he could have a bit of a walk to clear his head on the way there. In his mind he still saw Ike's red-eyed expression from the previous night, the evidence of tears he would never see. It was almost strange to think that Ike would have been affected so strongly, but…then again, maybe not. Pit had hardly known how to cope himself. Of course Ike wouldn't have known how to deal with it.

He rounded the corner. There weren't any other people about – Marth lived in quite a quiet area and there weren't really any amenities around here. He wondered if Ike had ever done this walk, and tried to ignore the strange queasy feeling that rose in his stomach at the thought. He didn't know how to feel about that, about it being Ike.

His polo shirt and jeans were still on from the previous day and he wouldn't mind a shower, he thought to himself. He stared at the pavement in front of him, letting his eyes follow the cracks between the paving slabs. Anything, anything other than thinking about what he was going to say to Marth.

* * *

Marth blew his nose into another tissue and violently pushed the Legally Blonde ticket away from him. It was still in view, though, so a moment later he shoved it under the sofa. The time was eleven thirty. He wasn't going to the theatre today, and he knew it, but he couldn't help the alternate scenario from playing out in his mind. In his imagination he could see Pit and him, happy, holding hands, off for a day out, talking about other musicals they had seen, debating whether or not to buy the CD and whether the tiny tubs of ice cream would be worth the expense in the interval. As if nothing had ever happened between them. As if he'd never met Ike.

There was a knock on the door.

Marth froze, briefly unable to move. Unable to move into a future he didn't want, no matter how inevitable. It was Pit. It had to be Pit. But he told himself it could just be the mailman, just so that he could get up from where he was sitting and take the ten or so paces to the front door. He told himself it would be a prank caller, and that when he opened the door there would be nothing but the fast-retreating back of a teenager in a hoodie. He took a deep breath, and opened it before he couldn't anymore.

Pit looked terrible.

It was the opposite of Pit's happy, bubbly smile. There was no energy or enthusiasm in his eyes but instead dull dread, resignation and sadness. Marth stepped back and let him in. He closed the door behind him; the only sound to break the silence.

Neither of them knew what to say. Marth was in denial; this couldn't be happening, this silence and this space. Pit looked at Marth for a moment, searching his face, and then looked away.

"I guess it's over then," Pit said softly.

When Marth had gone over the scene in his mind before it had never been Pit who'd said the starting words. It was hard to define exactly how it made a difference now, but it did.

"Pit," Marth said.

When Pit began to cry, it was the first time that Marth had felt unable to comfort him. He'd never really thought, either, about how small Pit was – shorter and slimmer than him. He'd always felt larger in Marth's mind. But when Marth finally hugged him it was his arms on the outside, his body which formed the casing for Pit's. He couldn't look down to hide from Pit's eyes.

They stood there in each other's embrace and let the minutes pass. Pit's hair was soft against his cheek. Marth wondered why he wasn't crying himself. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. This wasn't his Pit that he was losing – this was some other Pit, some sad stranger that he didn't know. It felt like if he just waited his old Pit would come back and it would be okay, more okay than this.

Eventually Pit gently pulled away and Marth let go, and neither of them really knew what to do with the silence.

"Would you like a drink?" Marth offered awkwardly.

"Yes please." Pit's voice was so quiet Marth hardly heard him.

Marth made them both some Ribena and when he passed Pit his glass they both just stood there for a moment sipping. It was eerie.

"I'm sorry about Legally Blonde."

"It's fine."

Marth finished his drink first and fiddled nervously with the glass as he waited for Pit. But it didn't look like Pit was going to say any more.

"Have you seen it before?" He didn't know what he was doing, what he was asking.

"I've seen the movie of Legally Blonde, yeah."

"It's about some very feminine girl getting into Harvard law school, isn't it?"

"Yeah, more or less."

"Any good?"

"Yeah, it's fun."

Pit finished his Ribena. Marth looked at the wall, the sofa, the coffee table, the floor, and then back to his glass again. Marth knew they were both just tiptoeing around the subject. They were afraid. But someone had to confront it.

"I should probably pay you back for the ticket," Marth said, even though he knew Pit had insisted it was a gift.

When Pit didn't answer it was almost worse.

"Pit," Marth whispered.

"I should have brought my ticket so that you could have taken someone else," Pit said.

_You bought them in the first place,_ Marth thought, almost angered by the suggestion.

"I'm not going," he said firmly.

Pit looked up at that, and Marth froze. They both knew he meant 'to the theatre' but the words had just brought the undercurrent too close. Pit kept eye contact for an unbearably long time.

"Why?" he asked.

They both knew what he was asking. The surface had been broken now.

"I don't know," Marth whispered.

Pit looked down. "Do you love him?"

"No."

An even longer silence followed.

"Do…" Pit's voice broke a little. "Do you love me?"

Marth reached a hand out towards him automatically to comfort him, filled with an instinctual urge to ease his pain. But just as quickly he snatched his hand back again, fearing it would be inappropriate. The words wouldn't come. He couldn't say 'yes' and watch Pit walk away, irrecoverably hurt, and know that he had consciously hurt one of the kindest and most generous people he had ever known; he had recklessly sought something more rather than appreciating what he had. If he said 'no' maybe he could tell himself that it wouldn't have worked out anyway, that at least in his heart he was single when he had slept with Ike. Except…that would be lying, wouldn't it? There was no answer that would make this easier on either of them.

He couldn't say 'yes' and watch Pit walk away. He couldn't say 'no' and pretend that their relationship had been entirely a lie rather than simply under strain.

"I don't know," he whispered. And he wished the words could sound like the honest middle-ground mess that they were rather than the weak escape from a 'no' that they sounded like.

Pit's lip wobbled. "I can't be with you if you don't love me."

They were in ruins. Marth knew that this, this horrible moment right here with both of them clutching too tightly at their glasses in the centre of his kitchen, was the deciding moment. His last chance to turn back, apologise, plead, try to pick up the broken pieces of their hearts and make it work again. A lump built in his throat.

"I know," he whispered.

Pit cried a little more, but only a little more. Marth gave him some tissues because he didn't know what else to do.

"Did you ever tell him my name?" Pit asked eventually.

"No."

Pit nodded and wiped his eyes one more time. "I think…I think I should go."

Marth was surprised. He'd expected this to be worse – more pleading, Pit asking to give them one last go even though Marth had cheated and should be the one saying those things if anyone. He'd expected Pit to cling until the end, making Marth feel even worse with guilt. But instead… This was the right way, Marth knew, the way Pit hadn't suggested he could let it slide or that with sheer enthusiasm on his part somehow they'd make it work. But it wasn't what he'd expected. Only now in Pit's eyes could he see that desperation, how little Pit wanted to leave.

He nodded silently and watched Pit walk to the front door and open it. But then Pit hesitated. He turned and walked back towards Marth. He took Marth's hand in his and Marth felt his stomach lurch. Oh no. Pit _was_ going to ask Marth to take him back.

But all Pit did was press his spare key into Marth's hands, and then turn and quickly walk away again. He turned back once in the doorway, but whatever he wanted to say wouldn't come out. And then he was gone.

Marth wondered what had made Pit accept the break, what had provoked him into realising he deserved better than someone who cheated. Then Marth mentally slapped himself. As if what he had done wasn't enough to make Pit leave him.

Ike. The thought of him killed the painful _I'm sorry_ that threatened to rip him apart if he let himself say the words. He couldn't afford to look back, to succumb to grief – not now, not just yet.

After all, he was seeing Ike tomorrow.

He was terrified.

#

It had only been just past noon when Pit had walked away. The sun hadn't been setting nor would it for several hours. The world was still turning. It didn't feel like these things should be true.

Now it was evening, somehow. Marth hadn't known what to do with the time. He had cleaned and he had cried and at some point he must have napped, feeling drained, because when he finally woke he was on the sofa in an awkward position, a J-cloth on the floor not far from his hand.

He didn't feel like moving any more, but he thought at least he should change into his pyjamas and sleep in his bed. He stood up and went upstairs.

He wasn't thinking when he crossed his bedroom to the chest of drawers and took out the picture frame Ike had given him. He didn't know why he could picture Pit's face so clearly behind the glass now – but not the smiling Pit. The crying Pit, the one whose heart he had broken and who had looked at him as if he had just dropped a glass snow globe of their memories on the floor.

Right then he would have given anything to feel someone's arms around him. Someone warm and comforting, holding him and keeping him whole. A friend, a family member, or… He would give anything.

But there was no one, and damn it, whose fault was that?

He threw the empty picture frame across the room, where it smashed against the wall.


	16. Chapter 16

_**AN: **__It's been a while. My relationship and history with this story is by now a rich one. Life happened. Things changed. New house, new university course. I signed up to NaNoWriMo and realized that there was no way I was going to win it alongside all the uni work. I'm still going to write that story though, and just write what I can. Then I had the thought of doing some completion back here on on the side. So here we are._

* * *

Ike arrived at noon by scooter, which surprised Marth a little. For some reason he'd expected Ike to own some kind of dark, slick vehicle or a proper motorbike. The friendly white scooter was almost too...well, friendly. Ike himself was wearing a t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank tops, and somehow the simple difference of not being able to see the man's shoulder muscles actually made him _more_ intimidating.

Marth smiled at him nervously from the doorway and resisted the urge to fidget with something. He tried to form a simple hello, but it proved too difficult. Ike looked between him and the scooter.

"I don't have a spare helmet so...my one's all yours," Ike smiled.

Marth stepped outside and locked the front door behind him. It was slightly colder than he'd expected and he wished he had worn something more than a simple cardigan over his top, but it was too late to go back inside now. He followed Ike over to the scooter and got on behind him. He was hesitant at first to hold onto Ike's waist but he had never been on a scooter before and didn't know how other people he had seen managed to hold onto the edges of the seat instead. As Ike revved the engine he nervously put his hands around Ike's waist, a gesture that somehow felt more intimate and trusting than the times he had touched Ike before.

And then they were moving. He scared himself every time they leaned their way around a corner, and the experience was so novel that he almost forgot about Pit - almost. The peril of the journey was distracting in the same way Ike himself was distracting. Ike had little regard for traffic too, speeding easily past cars with apparently no fear for his own safety.

"Do you always travel like this?" Marth asked. Having Ike's helmet on made him feel a little safer, but hardly enough to inspire belief that this was an entirely safe means of transport.

"Yes, for as long as I've had it."

"Where are we going?"

"I was thinking of bowling, unless you have any… _better _ideas?"

Marth could tell he was asking the question with a smile. Was Ike somehow managing to flirt with him at high speed, without looking at him, whilst driving, and still making his innuendo clearer than the sky? Yes, Marth believed resoundingly that he was.

"Bowling sounds fine," he said.

The bowling alley Ike drove to was part of a large leisure complex that also encompassed a swimming pool, gym, several restaurants and a cinema. It was further away from home than the bowling alley Marth had been thinking of. Marth pointed this out as Ike parked his scooter.

"Oh. I didn't know there was another one. I used to live nearer this area." Ike shrugged.

"How long ago?"

"Not that long," Ike said vaguely. "I get around a lot."

"Why'd you move?"

"I like change." Ike shrugged.

Marth walked with him towards the bowling alley. That wasn't much of an answer, but Marth didn't think he was going to get much out of pushing the subject. So he was just restless? That thought wasn't comforting either.

As they walked up to the counter to book their lanes Marth couldn't help but be aware of how they weren't touching. No arm around his waist, no hand holding, not even a brushing of shoulders or a friendly nudge. It drove home to him how much they were still strangers, even though they had had sex. Cold fear began to rise in him again, and once more he pushed it down.

Ike was good at bowling. Marth was terrible at conversation. He found himself babbling, asking trivial questions and then rambling on before Ike could answer because he was afraid that if he did pause, Ike wouldn't have answered anyway. After about fifteen minutes he excused himself to get them drinks and pretended he was invisible under the broken light by the bar. He took a deep breath, and paused a moment just to listen to the bowling balls rolling down the alleys, the clattering of pins being knocked over, and the hubbub of happy conversation. There was a large group of kids playing on a lane near him – probably as part of a birthday party. He watched their happy smiles, tried to copy one onto his own face. He held it as shakily as the drinks as he walked back towards their lane. Ike took one from him and drank about a third of the pint immediately.

"Thanks." He smiled back at Marth.

Marth wondered how they'd managed to have conversations before. His feelings were a jumble and he couldn't think of a single word to fill the gap. When he reached up and pulled Ike in for a kiss, it was because he didn't know what else to do. To his surprise, however, Ike was strangely withheld, making the kiss softer, briefer, and less distracting than Marth had hoped. When they separated Ike didn't meet his eye, and instead looked up at the score display as if nothing had happened.

"Your turn," he said.

Marth smiled, lost, confused, afraid, and stepped up to collect his bowling ball. He bowled it straight into the gutter. He did his best to frame an 'oh well' smile and a shrug as he turned back to Ike.

Ike, however, was staring into space. As Marth watched Ike sat down slowly, continuing to stare at the floor apparently unaware of Marth's eyes on him. Alongside sudden concern Marth felt a tiny flutter a hope. Maybe the reason for the awkwardness of this date wasn't just coming from him after all. Now that he thought about it, apart from the initial tease, Ike hadn't really been flirting at all.

"Ike?"

Ike blinked and looked up, then at the scoreboard. "It's still –"

"Are you alright?"

Ike gave him a long look and Marth's heart pounded. _If he doesn't answer honestly now, I am lost_, he thought.

Ike ran his tongue over his teeth. "Yeah. I met…someone I hadn't seen in a long time the other day."

Marth moved to sit down beside him. Ike glanced at him briefly, then looked down again.

"He'd forgotten something I thought I'd taught him. To say what he wanted, to take what he wanted, and to enjoy it. He was always chasing…" Ike trailed off, then shook his head with a small smile. "Ridiculous coincidence…meeting him again. _Ridiculous_." There was something bitter in his tone.

"Did you use to date him?" Marth asked.

The hard look in Ike's eyes nearly made him jump when he looked up. "No. I just fucked him, once."

Marth would never know how he managed to respond to that with a jokey tone. Perhaps he had no choice. His mouth felt dry and his chest felt tight, as if clenched by an invisible fist.

"Did you use to clean his windows, too?"

Ike chuckled. "No, I didn't." He tilted his head towards the score screen. "Still your turn."

Marth didn't take the bait. "What bothered you about seeing him again?"

Ike didn't take his bait, either. He shook his head slightly with a forced smile. "Your turn."

Marth didn't press. To be honest, he was surprised that Ike had shared as much as he had. He wondered if Ike regretted sharing even that much. There was a gulf ever widening between them, but somehow Marth told himself that as long as Ike was within sight on the other side, he hadn't lost everything.

They finished the game in three quarters of an hour or so and then changed back into their shoes before heading outside.

"Are you hungry?" Marth asked, even though he'd hoped Ike would be the one leading this date. Ike looked far away.

"Yeah, sure. You want pizza?"

When are we going to drop this act? Why can't I _talk_ to you? "Sure."

They walked into town. At least Ike allowed him to make small talk on the way. They talked about what kind of restaurants they liked and where those restaurants were. Ike liked American food, Marth preferred Italian. Apparently Ike hated seafood. Simple talk, easy talk to fill their mouths until there was food to do that instead.

They were nearly at Pizza Express when they caught sight of a familiar face.

Soren was dressed smartly in dark trousers and a well-fitting navy shirt. He gave a smile to Ike and came up to them.

"How's the job hunt going?" he asked, tucking a long black strand of hair back behind his ear. The quiet directness about him gave Marth the feeling that there was something sharp underneath.

"Good. I have a job interview next week," Ike replied, equally dissembling.

"Well that's good to hear." He glanced very deliberately between Ike and Marth and back again before addressing Marth. "And how are you?" The question was obviously weighted, but there was no way Marth could confront the implications without exposing all his fears for what they were.

"Good, thanks."

"Good." Soren nodded slightly. An awkward pause continued. Ike and Soren seemed to exchange several meaningful subtleties of expression without words. "I'll leave you to it, then." Soren gave them both another meaningful glance and then walked away.

It felt like every doubt and fear Marth had had built up all at once. Marth counted to ten in his head. His legs wouldn't move.

"You didn't tell me you had a job interview."

"Oh, yeah." Ike shrugged it off. "I might be getting back into construction."

"That's kind of important. You might have told me." He shouldn't have said it. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but the words came out anyway.

As Ike resumed walking it took him a moment to realise Marth wasn't keeping up. He stopped and looked back.

"What does it matter to you? We're not a couple." He sounded far too casual about it.

The words hurt perhaps more than they should have. It was the fact that Ike hadn't needed to be so explicit in his answer, which meant it had been something he felt he had to make a point of. They weren't a couple, of course they weren't, but the way Ike said it was like a closing door. It was everything Marth had feared.

"I…I lost everything for you," he whispered.

Ike walked back towards him, pressed a finger over his lips. "Say what you mean."

Tears welled in Marth's eyes. He swallowed, clenched his fists around the ends of his sleeves. "Why did you even ask me out?"

Ike shrugged. "I was curious. And…" he gave Marth a serious look, "I needed an occasion to make sure you knew where we stood."

Marth couldn't meet his gaze. He stared down the street beyond Ike, the few hundred paces or so to Pizza Express that he knew deep down he would never reach, not now. "You never even considered dating me, did you."

"No," Ike said softly. He seemed impatient, pitying perhaps at best.

Marth bit his lip, but he could feel it trembling through the tenuous grip of his teeth. He let out a shaky breath in an effort to catch it again, but it was a mistake that only allowed a tear to finally make it over his cheek. "Why not?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

"You're not my type. And…" He shrugged. "You cheated on your boyfriend behind his back. Hypothetically, how could I respect you?"

A stone plummeted in Marth's stomach. He felt sick so quickly he thought he might genuinely throw up. "B…You…That was…You…You wanted…" Not this soon. Not now. Not when he was so unprepared, in the middle of a public street, looking like a fool.

Ike shrugged again. "Hypothetically, if I wanted a relationship. But hey, no sweat, I didn't. I never have." He looked at Marth for a long moment. "We're not going to get that pizza, are we."

Something like a choked sob, cough or laugh caught in Marth's throat and lodged there in a hot lump. His mind was a whirr. There had to be something, something he could do. Something he could show Ike or give him, something he could say. Anything to make him stay, to stop the thread of his heart from unravelling and leaving him with nothing but the pressure of his trainers against the tarmac to root him. He would do anything. He would give and keep giving if only to keep him from being alone.

He sounded like Pit, he realised.


End file.
